


































































































r 


* 





























I’.'V Vi i 



GALLANT RESCUE.— Page 217 








































J.NISBET SL C.° 
LON DON . 




























> 



























I 


* 












BLUE LIGHTS 


OR 


HOT WORK IK THE SOUDAK. 

/ 

& ^alc of (Solbtcr |Cifc in scbcral of its phases. 


A L ' V • ' 

BY Rf M." BALLANTYNE, 

II 

AUTHOR OF “THE FUGITIVES ] ” “ RED ROONEY;” “THE ROVER OF THE ANDES 

“the wild man of the west;” “the red eric;” “freaks on the fells;'' 
“the young trawler;” “dusty diamonds;” “the battery and the 
boiler;” “post haste;” “black ivory;” “the iron horse;” 
“fighting the flames;” “the lifeboat;” etc. etc. 



NEW YORK: 

THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, 

42 BLEECKER STREET. 

1888. 















/ 


I 



Bv Trans £ ^ V 

AUG 9 1907 




C £• •- 1 



PREFACE. 


I have to thank Miss Sarah Kobfris'$h/Jrf -Ports¬ 


mouth—“ the Soldiers’ Friend ”—for kindly furnish¬ 
ing me with much of the information incorporated 
in this story. 

My thanks are also due to Eichard Stevens, late 
Private, Eoyal Marine Light Infantry, for his kind¬ 
ness in placing at my disposal his Journal—kept 
while in Egypt and the Soudan—from which many 
of the most stirring incidents of the tale have been 


gathered. 

It may be well to add that most of the important 
incidents herein narrated are facts, and nearly all 
the remainder are founded on fact. It is hoped, 
therefore, that the story will contribute towards 
a just conception of a true and interesting subject. 


E. M. BALLANTYNE. 


Harrow, 18SS. 
















II. —SHOWS SOME OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE FALSE 
STEP, AND INTRODUCES THE READER TO PECULIAR 
COMPANY,.16 


III.—THE “SAILORS’ WELCOME”—MILES HAS ANIGHT OF 
IT AND ENLISTS—HIS FRIEND ARMSTRONG HAS 
AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE AT THE SOLDIERS’ 
INSTITUTE,.35 


IV.—THE EMBARKATION JETTY—AND NIPPED IN THE 

BUD, .. ...•«•• 5/ 

V.—DIFFICULTIES MET AND OVERCOME, . . . 79 

VI.—THE UNFINISHED LETTER—TOO LATE ! ... 92 


VII.—MILES BEGINS TO DISCOVER HIMSELF—HAS A FEW 
ROUGH EXPERIENCES—AND FALLS INTO PEA- 
SOUP, SALT WATER, AND LOVE, .... 104 

VIII.—HAS REFERENCE TO MANY THINGS CONNECTED WITH 

MIND, MATTER, AND AFFECTIONS, . . . 122 

IX. —OUR HERO MEETS A FRIEND UNEXPECTEDLY IN 

PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES, AND HAS A VERY 
STRANGE ENCOUNTER,.137 

X. —OFF TO THE AVARS,.152 

XI.—NEW AND SAD MINGLED WITH CURIOUS EXPERIENCES, 1G2 











VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. XII.— IN ACTION AT LAST, 


XIII. -TELLS OP SOME OF THE TRIALS, UNCERTAINTIES, 

DANGERS, AND DISASTERS OP WAR, 

XIV. -DESCRIBES SOME OF OSMAN DIGNA'S ECCENTRICITIES 

AND OTHER MATTERS, 

XV. ~ ATHLETICS ~ A NEW ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP— 

AN EXPEDITION UNDERTAKEN, FOLLOWED BY A 
RACE FOR LIFE, . 

XVI.-LETTERS FROM HOME-FLYNN IS EXALTED AND 
BROUGHT LOW—RUMOURS OF WAR IN THE AIR, 

XVII.-THE EXPEDITION-ENEMY REPORTED—MILES IN A 
dilemma, . 

XVIII.-WHEREIN ARE DESCRIBED AN ASSAULT, A FURIOUS 
BIGHT, and SOME STRANGE PERSONAL EN¬ 
COUNTERS, 

XIY—REFERS TO SERGEANT HARDY, AMYTOOR-LAWYER 
SUTHERLAND, AND OTHER MATTERS, 


PAGE 

1C9 


182 

195 

208 

220 

231 


XX. OLD FRIENDS IN NEW ASPECTS, 

XXI. SHOWS HOW THE LADY OF THE INSTITUTE DIS¬ 
COURSES TO THE SERGEANT, HOW JACK-TARS GO 
OUT ON THE SPREE, AND HOW MUSIC CONQUERS 
WARRIORS, 

XXII. LED INTO CAPTIVITY, 

XYIH. -SHOWS THAT SUFFERING TENDS TO DRAW OUT STM- 
PATHY, . 1 

-Y.YIV.-ADVENTURES AMONG THE SOUDANESE, AND STRANGE 
meeting with the mahdi, 

XSV.-M.LES is PROMOTED MOLLOY OVERTHROWS THE 
MAHDI, and is elevated for so doing, 


243 

255 

2G8 


282 

295 

310 

323 

339 






CONTENTS 


VU 


PAGE 

CHAP. XXVI.—CRUEL TREATMENT—DESPAIR FOLLOWED BY HOPE 

AND A JOYFUL DISCOVERY, .... 350 

XXVII.— IN WHICH HOPES AND FEARS RISE AND FALL, . 366 

XXVIII.—A HORRIBLE SITUATION, ... . 379 

XXIX. —DESCRIBES A FEW MEETINGS AND SEVERAL SUR¬ 

PRISES, .396 

XXX. —CONCLUSION,.409 


/ 


> 








LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


VIGNETTE TITLE. 

THE COFFEE-SHED ON THE JETTY, . facing page'll'' 

ATTACKED BY WILD DOGS,.148 ' 

GALLANT RESCUE,.217 

THE FAMILIAR NOTES OF “HOME, SWEET 

HOME! ”.293 

A PALAVER IN THE DESERT, . . 380 





CHAPTER I. 

THE FALSE STEP. 



There is a dividing ridge in the great northern 
wilderness of America, whereon lies a lakelet of not 
more than twenty yards in diameter. It is of 
crystal clearness and profound depth, and on the 
still evenings of the Indian summer its surface 
forms a perfect mirror, which might serve as a 
toilet-glass for a Redskin princess. 

We have stood by the side of that lakelet and 
failed to note the slightest symptom of motion in it, 
yet somewhere in its centre there was going on a 
constat and mysterious division of watery particles, 
and those of them which glided imperceptibly to 
the right flowed southward to the Atlantic, while 
those that trembled to the left found a resting-place 
by the frozen shores of Hudson’s Bay. 

As it is with the flow and final exit of those 


A 





2 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


waters, so is it, sometimes, if not always, with the 
spirit and destiny of man. 

Miles Milton, our hero, at the age of nineteen, 
stood at the dividing ridge of his life. If the oscil¬ 
lating spirit, trembling between right and wrong, had 
decided to lean to the right, what might have been 
his fate no one can tell. He paused on the balance 
a short time, then he leaned over to the left, and 
what his fate was it is the purpose of this volume 
to disclose. At the outset, we may remark that it 
was not unmixed good. Neither was it unmitigated 
evil. 

Miles had a strong body, a strong will, and a 
somewhat passionate temper: a compound which is 
closely allied to dynamite! 

His father, unfortunately, was composed of much 
the same materials. The consequences were some¬ 
times explosive. It might have profited the son 
much had he studied the Scripture lesson, “Children, 
obey your parents in the Lord/’ Not less might it 
have benefited the father to have pondered the 
words, “ Fathers,provoke not your children to wrath.” 

Young Milton had set his heart on going into the 
army. Old Milton had resolved to thwart the desire 
of his son. The mother Milton, a meek and loving 
soul, experienced some hard times between the two. 
Both loved her intensely, and each loved himself, not 
better perhaps, but too much ! 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


3 


It is a sad task to have to recount the disputes 
between a father and a son. We shrink from it and 
turn away. Suffice it to say that one day Miles and 
his father had a Yesuvian meeting on the subject of 
the army. The son became petulant and unreason¬ 
able ; the father fierce and tyrannical. The end was 
that they parted in anger. 

“ Go, sir,” cried the father sternly ; “ when you are 
in a better frame of mind you may return.” 

“ Yes, father, I will go,” cried the son, starting up, 
“and I will never return.” 

Poor youth ! He was both right and wrong in this 
prophetic speech. He did return home, but he did 
not return to his father. 

With fevered pulse and throbbing heart he rushed 
into a plantation that lay at the back of his father’s 
house. He had no definite intention save to relieve 
his feelings by violent action. Running at full 
speed, he came suddenly to a disused quarry that 
was full of water. It had long been a familiar haunt 
as a batliing-pool. Many a time in years past had 
he leaped off its precipitous margin into the deep 
water, and wantoned there in all the .abandonment 
of exuberant youth. The leap was about thirty 
feet, the depth of water probably greater. Constant 
practice had rendered Miles so expert at diving and 
swimming that he had come to feel as much at 
home in the water as a New-Zealander. 







4 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Casting off his garments, he took the accustomed 
plunge by way of cooling his heart and brain. He 
came up from the depths refreshed, but not restored 
to equanimity. While dressing, the sense of in¬ 
justice returned as strongly as before, and, with it, the 
hot indignation, so that on afterwards reaching the 
highway he paused only for a few moments. This 
was the critical point. Slowly but decidedly he 
leaned to the left. He turned his back on his 
father’s house, and caused the stones to spurt from 
under his heels as he walked rapidly away. 

If Miles Milton had thought of his mother 
at that time he might have escaped many a day of 
bitter repentance, for she was as gentle as her hus¬ 
band was harsh; but the angry youth either forgot 
her at the moment, or, more probably, thrust the 
thought of her away. 

Poor mother! if she had only known what a con¬ 
flict between good and evil was going on in the breast 
of her boy, how she would have agonised in prayer 
for him! But she did not know. There was, how¬ 
ever, One who did know, who loved him better even 
than his mother, and who watched and guarded him 
throughout all his chequered career. 

It is not improbable that in spite of his resolves 
Miles would have relented before night and returned 
home had not a very singular incident intervened 
and closed the door behind him. 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


5 


That day a notorious swindler had been tracked 
by a red-haired detective to the manufacturing city 
to which Miles first directed his steps. The bills 
describing the swindler set forth that he was quite 
young, tall, handsome, broad-shouldered, with black 
curling hair, and a budding moustache ; that he was 
dressed in grey tweeds, and had a prepossessing 
manner. Now this chanced to be in some respects 
an exact description of Miles Milton ! 

The budding moustache, to be sure, was barely 
discernible, still it was sufficiently so for a detective 
to found on. His dress, too, was brown tweed, not 
grey; but of course dresses can be changed ; and as 
to his manner, there could not be two opinions 
about that. 

Now it chanced to be past one o’clock when Miles 
entered the town and felt himself impelled by 
familiar sensations to pause in front of an eating- 
house. It was a poor eating-house in a low district, 
but Miles was not particular; still further, it was 
a temperance coffee-house, but Miles cared nothing 
for strong drink. Strong health and spirits had 
served his purpose admirably up to that date. 

Inside the eating-house there sat several men of 
the artisan class, and a few of the nondescript variety. 
Among the latter was the red-haired detective. He 
was engaged with a solid beef-steak. 

“Oho!” escaped softly from his lips, when his 






6 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


sharp eyes caught sight of our hero. So softly did 
he utter the exclamation that it might have been a 
mere remark of appreciation addressed to the steak, 
from which he did not again raise his eyes for a 
considerable time. 


The place was very full of people—so full that 
there seemed scarcely room for another guest; but j 
by some almost imperceptible motion the red-haired f 
man made a little space close to himself. The man, ' 

next to him, with a hook-nose, widened the space by \ 
similar action, and Miles, perceiving that there was 
room, sat down. < 

“ Bread and cheese,” he said to the waiter. 

■ 

“ Bread ’n’ cheese, sir ? Yessir.” 

Miles was soon actively engaged in mechanically 
feeding, while his mind was busy as to future plans. 

Presently he became aware that the men on either (\ 
side of him were scanning his features and person j| 
with peculiar attention. W 

“ Coldish weather,” remarked the red-haired man, | 
looking at him in a friendly way. 

“ It is,” replied Miles, civilly enough. 

“ Bather cold for bathin’, ain’t it, sir ? ” continued 
the detective carelessly, picking his teeth with a 
quill. 

“ How did you know that I’ve been bathing ? ” j 
demanded Miles in surprise. 

“ I didn’t know it.” - 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


7 


“ How did you guess it then ? ” 

“ Veil, it ain’t difficult to guess that a young feller 
’as bin ’avin’ a swim w’en you see the ’air of ’is ’ead 
hall vet, an’ ’is pocket-’ankercher lookin’ as if it ’ad 
done dooty for a towel, not to mention ’is veskit 
’avin’ bin putt on in a ’urry, so as the buttons ain’t 
got into the right ’oles, you see! ” 

Miles laughed, and resumed his bread and cheese. 

“ You are observant, I perceive,” he said. 

“Hot wery partiklarly so,” returned Eedhair; “but 
I do obsarve that your boots tell of country roads. 
Was it a long way hout of town as you was bathin’ 
this forenoon, now ? ” 

There was a free and easy familiarity about the 
man’s tone which Miles resented, but, not wishing 
to run the risk of a disagreement in such company, 
he answered quietly— 

“Yes, a considerable distance; it was in an old 
quarry where I often bathe, close to my father’s house.” 

“Ha! jest so, about ’alf-way to the willage of 
Kamplin’, w’ere you slep’ last night, if report speaks 
true, an’ w’ere you left the grey tweeds, unless, p’raps, 
you sunk ’em in the old quarry.” 

“Why, what on earth do you mean?” asked Miles, 
with a look of such genuine surprise that Eedhair 
was puzzled, and the inan with the hooked nose, 
who had been listening attentively, looked slightly 
confused. 





8 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Read that, sir,” said the detective, extracting a 
newspaper cutting from his pocket and laying it on 
the table before Miles. 

While he read, the two men watched him with ( 
interest, so did some of those who sat near, for they ! 
began to perceive that something was “in the wind.” 

The tell-tale blood sprang to the youth’s brow as ( 
he read and perceived the meaning of the man’s 
remarks. At this Redliair and Hooknose nodded 
to each other significantly. 

“ You don’t mean to say,” exclaimed Miles, in a 1 
tone of grand indignation which confirmed the men ; 
in their suspicion, “ that you think this description 
applies to me ? ” 

“I wouldn’t insinivate too much, sir, though I 
have got my suspicions,” said Redhair blandly; “ but V 
of course that’s easy settled, for if your father’s 
’ouse is anyw’ere hereabouts, your father won’t 'I 
object to identify his son.” 

“ Ridiculous! ” exclaimed Miles, rising angrily at ■ | 
this interruption to his plans. The two men rose 
promptly at the same moment. “ Of course my father \ 
will prove that you have made a mistake, but-” 

He hesitated in some confusion, for the idea of 
re-appearing before his father so soon, and in such 
company, after so stoutly asserting that he would 
never more return, was humiliating. The detective - 
observed the hesitation and became jocose. 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


9 


“ If you ’d rather not trouble your parent,” said 
Bedhair, “you’ve got no call to do it. The 
station ain’t far off, and the sooner we get there the 
better for all parties.” 

A slight clink of metal at this point made Miles 
aware of the fact that Hooknose was drawing a pair 
of handcuffs from one of his pockets. 

The fall significance of his position suddenly burst 
upon him. The thought of being led home a prisoner, 
or conveyed to the police-station handcuffed, mad¬ 
dened him; and the idea of being thus unjustly 
checked at the very outset of his independent career 
made him furious. Bor a few moments he stood so 
perfectly still and quiet that the detectives were 
thrown slightly off their guard. Then there was an 
explosion of some sort within the breast of Miles 
Milton. It expended itself in a sudden impulse, 
which sent Bedhead flat on the table among the 
crockery, and drove Hooknose into the fireplace 
among the fire-irons. A fat little man chanced to 
be standing in the doorway. The same impulse, 
modified, shot that little man into the street like 
a cork out of a bottle, and next moment Miles was 
flying along the pavement at racing speed, horrified 
at what he had done, but utterly reckless as to what 
might follow! 

Hearing the shouts of pursuers behind him, and 
being incommoded by passers-by in the crowded 







10 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


thoroughfare, Miles turned sharply into a by-street, 
and would have easily made his escape—being un- / 
commonly swift of foot—had he not been observed 
by an active little man of supple frame and presump¬ 
tuous tendencies. Unlike the mass of mankind 
around him—who stared and wondered—the active 
little man took in the situation at a glance, joined 
in the pursuit, kept well up, thus forming a sort of 
connecting-link between the fugitive and pursuers, > 
and even took upon himself to shout “ Stop thief! ” fl 
as he ran. Miles endeavoured to throw him off 
by putting on, as schoolboys have it, “a spurt.” j 
But the active little man also spurted and did 
not fall far behind. Then Miles tried a second 
double, and got into a narrow street, which a single f 
glance showed him was a blind alley! Dis- ' 
appointment and anger hereupon took possession of \ 
him, and he turned at bay with the tiger-like resolve | 
to run a-muck ! / 

Fortunately for himself, he observed a pot of | 
whitewash standing near a half-whitened wall, f 
with a dirty canvas frock and a soiled billycock 
lying beside it. The owner of the property had 
left it inopportunely, for, quick as thought, Miles 
wriggled into the frock, flung on the billycock, 
seized the pot, and walked in a leisurely way to the 
head of the alley. He reached it just as the active 
little man turned into it, at the rate of ten miles an i 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


11 


hour. A yell of “ Stop thief! ” issued from the 
man’s presumptuous lips at the moment. 

His injunction was obeyed to the letter, for the 
would-be thief of an honest man’s character on in¬ 
sufficient evidence was stopped by Miles’s bulky 
person so violently that the whitewash was 
scattered all about, and part of it went into the 
active man’s eyes. 

To squash the large brush into the little man’s 
face, and thus effectually complete what his own 
recklessness had begun, was the work of an instant. 
As he did it, Miles assumed the role of the injured 
party, suiting his language to his condition. 

“ What dee mean by that, you houtrageous 
willain ? ” he cried savagely, to the great amusement 
of the bystanders, who instantly formed a crowd 
round them. “Look wot a mess you’ve bin an’ 
made o’ my clean frock ! Don’t you see ? ” 

The poor little man could not see. He could only 
cough and gasp and wipe his face with his coat¬ 
tails. 

“ I’d give you in charge o’ the pleece, I would, 
if it wasn’t that you’ve pretty well punished your¬ 
self a’ready,” continued Miles. “Take ’im to a 
pump some o’ you, ’cause I ain’t got time. Good- 
day, spiderlegs, an’ don’t go for to run into a 
hartist again, with a paint-pot in ’is ’and.” 

So saying, Miles pushed through the laughing 



12 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


crowd and sauntered away. He turned into the 
first street he came to, and then went forward as 
fast as was consistent with the idea of an artisan in ' ! 
a hurry. Being utterly ignorant of the particular 
locality into which he had penetrated—though well 
enough acquainted with the main thoroughfares of 
the city—his only care was to put as many intricate j 
streets and lanes as possible between himself and 
the detectives. This was soon done, and thereafter, » 
turning into a darkish passage, he got rid of the i 
paint-pot and borrowed costume. 

Fortunately he had thrust his own soft helmet- | 
shaped cap into his breast at the time he put on 
the billycock, and was thus enabled to issue from » 
the dark passage very much like his former self, j 
with the exception of a few spots of whitewash, j 
which were soon removed. 1 

Feeling now pretty safe, our hero walked a 
considerable distance through the unknown parts f 
of the city before he ventured to inquire the way 9 
to thoroughfares with which he was familiar. Once j 
in these, he proceeded at a smart pace to one of the V 
railway stations, intending to leave town, though as 
yet he had formed no definite plan of action. In j 
truth, his mind was much troubled and confused by ; 
the action of his conscience, for when the thought of ( 
leaving home and entering the army as a private ; 
soldier, against his father’s wishes, crossed his mind, { 




HOT WOEK IN THE SOUDAN. 


13 


Conscience faithfully shook his head; and when 
softer feelings prevailed, and the question arose 
irresistibly, “ Shall I return home ? ” the same 
faithful friend whispered, “ Yes. 55 

In a state of indecision, Miles found himself 
borne along by a human stream to the booking- 
office. Immediately in front of him were two 
soldiers,—one a sergeant, and the other a private 
of the line. 

Both were tall handsome men, straight as arrows, 
and with that air of self-sufficient power which is 
as far removed from arrogance as it is from 
cowardice, and is by no means an uncommon 
feature in men of the British army. 

Miles felt a strong, unaccountable attraction 
towards the young private. He had not yet heard 
his voice nor encountered his eye; indeed, being 
behind him, he had only seen his side-face, and as 
the expression on it was that of stern gravity, the 
attractive power could not have lain in that. It 
might have lain in the youthful look of the lad, for 
albeit a goodly man in person, he was almost a boy 
in countenance, being apparently not yet twenty 
years of age. 

Miles was at last roused to the necessity for 
prompt and decisive action by the voice of the 
sergeant saying in tones of authority—- 

“ Portsmouth—third—two—single.” 







14 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ That’s the way to go it, lobster ! ” remarked a 
shabby man, next in the line behind Miles. 

The grave sergeant paid no more regard to this 
remark than if it had been the squeak of a mouse. 

“Now, then, sir, your carridge stops the way. 
’Eave a’ead. Shall I ’elp you?” said the shabby 
man. 

Thus admonished, Miles, scarce knowing what he 
said, repeated the sergeant’s words— 

“ Portsmouth—third—two—single.” 

“ Vy, you ain’t agoin’ to pay for me , are you 1 ” 
exclaimed the shabby man in smiling surprise. 

“Oh! beg pardon. I mean one” said Miles to 
the clerk, quickly. 

The clerk retracted the second ticket with stolid 
indifference, and Miles, hastening to the platform, 
sat down on a seat, deeply and uncomfortably 
impressed with the fact that he possessed little or 
no money ! This unsatisfactory state of things had 
suddenly burst upon him while in the act of paying 
for his ticket. He now made a careful examination 
of his purse, and found its contents to be exactly 
seven shillings and sixpence, besides a few coppers 
in his trousers-pocket. 

Again indecision assailed him. Should he return ? 
It was not too late. “ Yes,” said Conscience, with 
emphasis. “ No,” said Shame. False pride echoed 
the word, and Self-will re-echoed it. Still our hero 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


15 


hesitated, and there is no saying what the upshot 
might have been if the bell had not rung at the 
moment, and, “ Now, then, take your seats! ” put an 
end to the controversy. 

Another minute, and Miles Milton was seated 
opposite the two soldiers, rushing towards our great 
southern seaport at the rate of forty miles an hour. 







16 


BLUE LIGHTS. OR 


CHAPTER II. 

SHOWS SOME OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE FALSE STEP, AND 
INTRODUCES THE READER TO PECULIAR COMPANY. 

Our hero soon discovered that the sergeant was 
an old campaigner, having been out in Egypt at the 
beginning of the war, and fought at the famous 
battle of Tel-el-Kebir. 

In his grave and undemonstrative way and quiet 
voice, this man related some of his experiences, so as 
not only to gain the attention of his companion in 
arms, but to fascinate all who chanced to be within 
earshot of him—not the least interested among whom, 
of course, was our friend Miles. 

As the sergeant continued to expatiate on those 
incidents of the war which had come under his own 
observation, three points impressed themselves on 
our hero: first, that the sergeant was evidently a 
man of serious, if not religious, spirit; second, that 
while he gave all due credit to his comrades for 
their bravery in action, he dwelt chiefly on those 
incidents which brought out the higher qualities 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


17 


j of the men, such as uncomplaining endurance, for- 
J bearance, etc., and he never boasted of having given 
“a thorough licking” to the Egyptians, nor spoke 

1 disparagingly of the native troops ; lastly, that he 
h seemed to lay himself out with a special view to the 
|unflagging entertainment of his young comrade. 

/ The reason for this last purpose he learned during 
j a short halt at one of the stations. Seeing the 

2 sergeant standing alone there, Miles, after accosting 
' him with the inevitable references to the state of the 

weather, remarked that his comrade seemed to be 
! almost too young for the rough work of soldiering. 

1 “ Yes, he is young enough, but older than he 

] looks,” answered the sergeant. “ Poor lad! I’m sorry 
! for him.” 

if 

“ Indeed! He does not seem to me a fit subject 
‘ for pity. Young, strong, handsome, intelligent, he 
I seems pretty well furnished to begin the battle of 

J life—especially in the army.” 

“ c Things are not what they seem/ ” returned the 
) soldier, regarding his young questioner with some- 
{ thing between a compassionate and an amused look. 
1 “ ‘ All is not gold that glitters.’ Soldiering is not 
\ made up of brass bands, swords, and red coats! ” 

/ “ Having read a good deal of history I am well 

I aware of that,” retorted Miles, who was somewhat 
' offended by the implication contained in the ser¬ 
geant's remarks. 

O 

B 



18 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Well, then, you see,” continued the sergeant, 
“all the advantages that you have mentioned, and 
which my comrade certainly possesses, weigh 
nothing with him at all just now, because this 
sudden call to the wars separates him from his pool 
young wife.” 

“ Wife! ” exclaimed Miles; “ why, he seems to nr 
little more than a boy—except in size, and perhaps 
in gravity.” 

“He is over twenty, and, as to gravity—well 
most young fellows would be grave enough if the} 
had to leave a pretty young wife after six months oi 
wedded life. You see, he married without leave 
and so, even if it were a time of peace, his wife 
would not be recognised by the service. In war¬ 
time he must of course leave her behind him. It 
has been a hard job to prevent him from desert¬ 
ing, and now it’s all I can do to divert his attention 
from his sorrow by stirring him up with tales of 
the recent wars.” 

At this point the inexorable bell rang, doors were 
banged, whistles sounded, and the journey was 
resumed. 

Arrived at Portsmouth, Miles was quickly in¬ 
volved in the bustle of the platform. He had made 
up his mind to have some private conversation with 
the sergeant as to the possibility of entering her 
Majesty’s service as a private soldier, and was on the 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


19 


point of accompanying his military travelling com¬ 
panions into the comparative quiet of the street 
j when a porter touched his cap— 


“ Any luggage, sir ? ” 

“ Luggage ?—a—no—no luggage! 55 


It was the first moment since leaving home that 


the thought of luggage had entered into his brain! 
That thought naturally aroused other thoughts, such 
as lodgings, food, friends, funds, and the like. On 
turning to the spot where his military companions 
had stood, he discovered that they were gone. 
Running to the nearest doorway he found it to he 
the wrong one, and before he found the right one 
and reached the street the two soldiers had vanished 
from the scene. 


“You seem to be a stranger here, sir. Can I 
direct you ? ” said an insinuating voice at his elbow. 

The speaker was an elderly man of shabby-genteel 
appearance and polite address. Miles did not quite 
jli k e the look of him. In the circumstances, how- 
jever, and with a strangely desolate feeling of lone¬ 
liness creeping over him, he did not see his way to 



a civil offer. 


j “ Thank you. I am indeed a stranger, and happen 
Jto have neither friend nor acquaintance in the town, 
I so if you can put me in the way of finding a respect- 
table lodging—a—a cheap one, you will greatly oblige 
me.” 






20 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“With pleasure,” said the man, “if you will 
accompany-” 

“ Stay, don’t trouble yourself to show me the way, 
interrupted Miles; “just name a house and th 
street, that will-” 

“ No trouble at all, sir,” said the man. “ I happe: 
to be going in the direction of the docks, and know 1 
of excellent as well as cheap lodgings there.” 

Making no further objection, Miles followed his 
new friend into the street. For some time, the crowc 
being considerable and noisy, they walked ii . 
silence. / ' 

At the time we write of, Portsmouth was ringing L 
with martial music and preparations for war. 

At all times the red-coats and the blue-jackets ar< 
prominent in the streets of that seaport; for almos j 
the whole of our army passes through it at om 
period or another, either in going to or returning 
from “ foreign parts.” But at this time there was . 
the additional bustle resulting from the Egyptiar. 
war. Exceptional activity prevailed in its yards, anc 
hurry in its streets. Becruits, recently enlisted 
flocked into it from all quarters, while on its jettie 
were frequently landed the sad fruits of war in th 
form of wounded men. 

“ Have you ever been in Portsmouth before ? ” 
asked the shabby-genteel man, on reaching a part o 
the town which was more open and less crowded. 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


21 


so large and 


Never. I had no idea it was 
justling,” said Miles. 

“ The crowding and bustling is largely increased 
ust now, of course, in consequence of the war in 
jCgypt,” returned the man. “ Troops are constantly 
inbarking, and others returning. It is a noble 
service ! Men start in thousands from this port 
T oung, hearty, healthy, and full of spirit; they re¬ 
urn—those of them who return at all—sickly, 
>roken-down, and with no spirit at all except what 
hey soon get poured into them by the publicans. 
les ; commend me to the service of my Queen and 
)ountry ! ” 

There was a sneering tone in the man’s voice 
hich fired his companion’s easily roused indig- 
ation. 

“ Mind what you say about our Queen while in 
y company,” said Miles sternly, stopping short 
nd looking the man full in the face. “lama loyal 
ubject, and will listen to nothing said in disparage¬ 
ment of the Queen or of her Majesty’s forces.” 

“ Bless you, sir,” said the man quickly, “ I’m a 
oyal subject myself, and wouldn’t for the world say 
word against her Majesty. No more would I 
isparage her troops; but, after all, the army ain’t 
erfect, you know. Even you must admit that, sir. 
ith all its noble qualities there’s room for im- 







22 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


There was such an air of sincerity—or at least o 
assumed humility—in the man’s tone and manner 
that Miles felt it unjustifiable to retain his indig 
nation. At the same time, he could not all at one* 
repress it, and was hesitating whether to' fling of( 
from the man or to forgive him, when the sound 
many voices, and of feet tramping in regular time 
struck his ear and diverted his attention. Nex 
moment the head of a regiment, accompanied by 
crowd of juvenile admirers, swept round the corne 
of the street. At the same instant a forest o 
bayonets gleamed upon the youth’s vision, and 
brass band burst with crashing grandeur upon hi 
ear, sending a quiver of enthusiasm into the deepes 
recesses of his soul, and stirring the very marrow if 
his bones! i 

Miles stood entranced until the regiment hafe 
passed, and the martial strains were softened h u 
distance; then he looked up and perceived that hi^ 1 * 
shabby companion was regarding him with a peculiab - 
smile. pdi 

“ I think you’ve a notion of being a soldier,” hfM 
said, with a smile. fee 

“Where is that regiment going?” asked Miles 
instead of answering the question. ? 

“ To barracks at present; to Egypt in a few days 
There ’ll be more followin’ it before Iona” 

o 

It was a distracting as well as an exciting walk 









HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


23 


'that Miles had through the town, for at every turn 
he passed couples or groups of soldiers, or sailors, or 
marines, and innumerable questions sprang into and 
jostled each other in his mind, while, at the same 
moment, his thoughts and feelings were busy with 
his present circumstances and future prospects. The 
straction was increased by the remarks and com- 



Iments of his guide, and he would fain have got rid 
jof him; hut good-feeling, as well as common-sense, 
forbade his casting him off without sufficient 
reason. 

Presently he stopped, without very well knowing 
why, in front of a large imposing edifice. Looking 
up, he observed the words Soldiers’ Institute in 
large letters on the front of it. 

“ What sort of an Institute is that ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh! it’s a miserable affair, where soldiers are 
taken in cheap, as they say, an’ done for,” returned 
the shabby man hurriedly, as if the subject were 
distasteful to him. “ Come along with me and I ’ll 
show you places where soldiers—ay, and civilians 
too—can enjoy themselves like gentlemen, an’ get 
value for their money.” 

As he spoke, two fine-looking men issued from a 
small street close to them, and crossed the road— 
one a soldier of the line, the other a marine. 

“ Here it is, Jack,” exclaimed the soldier to his 
friend; “Miss Sarah Robinson’s Institoot,that you’ve 




24 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


heard so much about. Come an’ I ’ll show you where 
you can write your letter in peace-” 

Thus much was overheard by Miles as they turned 
into a side-street, and entered what was obviously 
one of the poorer districts of the town. 

“ Evidently that soldier’s opinion does not agree 
with yours,” remarked Miles, as they walked 
along. 

“ More’s the pity ! ” returned the shabby man, 
whose name he had informed his companion was 
Sloper. “Now we are getting among places, you 
see, where there’s a good deal of drinking going on.” 

“I scarcely require to be told that,” returned 
Miles, curtly; for he was beginning to feel his 
original dislike to Mister Sloper intensified. 

It did not indeed require any better instructor 
than eyes and ears to inform our hero that the grog¬ 
shops around him were full, and that a large pro¬ 
portion of the shouting and swearing revellers inside 
were soldiers and seamen. 

By this time it was growing dark, and most of the 
gin-palaces were beginning to send forth that glare 
of intense and warm light with which they so 
knowingly attract the human moths that constitute 
their prey. 

“ Here we are,” said Sloper, stopping in front of 
a public-house in a narrow street. “ This is one o’ 
the respectable lodgin’s. Most o’ the others are dis- 











HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


25 


iputable. It’s not much of a neighbourhood, I 


limit.” 


“ It certainly is not very attractive,” said Miles, 
^sitating. 

^“You said you wanted a cheap one,” returned 
loper, “ and you can’t expect to have it cheap and 
jshionable, you know. You’ve no occasion to be 
jraid. Come in.” 

The arguments of Mr. Sloper might have failed to 
Jove Miles, but the id^a of his being afraid to go 
iywhere was too much for him. 

“ Go in, then,” he said, firmly, and followed. 

The room into which he was ushered was a 



joderately large public-house, with a bar and a 
limber of tables round the room, at which many- 


en and a few women were seated; some gambling, 
(hers singing or disputing, and all drinking and 
poking. It is only right to say that Miles was 
jocked. Hitherto he had lived a quiet and com- 
iratively innocent country life. He knew of such 
aces chiefly from books or hearsay, or had gathered 
lerely the superficial knowledge that comes through 
:ie opening of a swing-door. For the first time in 
s life he stood inside a low drinking-shop, breath- 
g its polluted atmosphere and listening to its foul 
nguage. His first impulse was to retreat, but false 
tame, the knowledge that he had no friend in 
ortsmouth, or place to go to, that the state of his 




26 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


purse forbade his indulging in more suitable accon 
modation, and a certain pride of character whic 
made him always determine to carry out what he ha 
resolved to do—all these considerations and fact 
combined to prevent his acting on the better ii 
pulse. He doggedly followed his guide to a sim 
round table and sat down. 

Prudence, however, began to operate within hii 
He felt that he had done wrong; but it was ta 
late now, he thought, to retrace his steps. B 
would, however, be on his guard; would not encou j 
age the slightest familiarity on the part of any onl 
and would keep his eyes open. For a youth wl > 
had seen nothing of the world this was a high 
commendable resolve. 

“ What ’ll you drink ? ” asked Mr. Sloper. 

Miles was on the point of saying “ Coffee,” bi 
reflecting that the beverage might not be read’j 
obtainable in such a place, he substituted “ Beer.”' 

Instead of calling the waiter, Mr. Sloper wer} 
himself to the bar to fetch the liquor. While 
was thus engaged, Miles glanced round the rooi 
and was particularly struck with the appearance 
a large, fine-looking sailor who sat at the small tab! 
next to him, with hands thrust deep into his trousers 
pockets, his chin resting on his broad chest, and 
solemn, owlish stare in his semi-drunken yet man! 
countenance. He sat alone, and was obvious!^ 







HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


27 


n a very sulky frame of mind—a condition which 
le occasionally indicated through a growl of dissatis- 
action. 

As Miles sat wondering what could have upset 
he temper of a tar whose visage was marked 
jy the unmistakable lines and dimples of good- 
.amour, he overheard part of the conversation that 
/assed between the barman and Mr. Sloper. 

“What! have they got hold o’ Battling Bill?” 
sked the former, as he drew the beer. 

“ Ay, worse luck,” returned Sloper. “ I saw the 
tergeant as I came along lead him over to Miss 
■.obinson’s trap—confound her! ” 

Don’t you go fur to say anything agin Miss 
obinson, old man,” suddenly growled the big sailor, 
a voice so deep and strong that it silenced for a 
oment the rest of the company. “ Leastways, you 
ay if you like, but if you do, I ’ll knock in your day- 
Ights, an’ polish up your figur’head so as your own 
pother would mistake you fur a battered saucepan!” 

/ The seaman did not move from his semi-recumbent 
position as he uttered this alarming threat, but he 
'accompanied it with a portentous frown and an 
owlish wink of both eyes. 

“ What! have you joined the Blue Lights ? ” asked 
Sloper, with a smile, referring to the name by which 
the religious and temperance men of the army were 
known. 







28 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“No, I ha’n’t. Better for me, p’r’aps, if I had] 
Here, waiter, fetch me another gin-an’-warer. An 
more o’ the gin than the warer, mind. Heave 
ahead or I ’ll sink you! ” 

Having been supplied with a fresh dose of gi 
and water, the seaman appeared to go to sleep, anj 
Miles, for want of anything better to do, accepts! 
Sloper’s invitation to play a game of dominoes. 

“Are the beds here pretty good?” he asked, a: 
they were about to begin. 

“ Yes, first-rate—for the money,” answered Slope* 

“ That’s a lie ! ” growled the big sailor. “ They ’rtf 
bad at any price—stuffed wi’ cocoa-nuts and maij 
line-spikes.” 

Mr. Sloper received this observation with th 
smiling urbanity of a man who eschews war at a 
costs. 

“You don’t drink,” he said after a time, referring 
to Miles’s pot of beer, which he had not ye 
touched. 

Miles made no reply, but by way of answer took' 
up the pot and put it to his lips. 

He had not drunk much of it when the big sea¬ 
man rose hurriedly and staggered between the two 
tables. In doing so, he accidentally knocked the 
pot out of the youth’s hand, and sent the contents 
into Mr. Sloper’s face and down into his bosom, to 
the immense amusement of the company. 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


29 


That man of peace accepted the baptism meekly, 
bat Miles sprang up in sudden anger. 

The seaman turned to him, however, with a 
benignantly apologetic smile. 

“ Hallo ! messmate. I ax your parding. They 
don’t leave room even for a scarecrow to go about 
in this here cabin. I ’ll stand you another glass. 
Give us your flipper ! ” 

There was no resisting this, it was said so heartily. 
Miles grasped the huge hand that was extended and 
shook it warmly. 

“ All right,” he said, laughing. “ I don’t mind 
the beer, and there’s plenty more where that came 
from, but I fear you have done some damage to my 
fr-” 

“ Your friend. Out with it, sir. Never be 
ashamed to acknowledge your friends,” exclaimed 
the shabby man, as he wiped his face. “ Hold on a 
bit,” he added, rising; “ I ’ll have to change my shirt. 
Won’t keep you waitin’ long.” 

“ Another pot o’ beer for this ’ere gen’lem’n,” said 
the sailor to the barman as Sloper left the room. 

Paying for the drink, he returned and put the pot 
on the table. Then, turning to Miles, he said in a 
low voice and with an intelligent look— 

“ Come outside for a bit, messmate. I wants to 
speak to ’ee.” 

Miles rose and followed the man in much surprise. 



30 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ You ’ll excuse me, sir,” he said, when a few yards 
away from the door; “ but I see that you ’re green, an’ 
don’t know what a rascally place you’ve got into. 
I’ve been fleeced there myself, and yet I’m fool 
enough to go back I Most o’ the parties there;— 
except the sailors an’ sodgers—are thieves an’ 
blackguards. They’ve drugged your beer, I kno w ; 
that’s why I capsized it for you, and the feller that 
has got hold o’ you is a well-known decoy-duck. I 
don’t know how much of the ready you may have 
about you, hut this I does know, whether it be 
much or little, you wouldn’t have a rap of it in the 
mornin’ if you stayed the night in this here house.” 

“Are you sure of this, friend?” asked Miles, 
eyeing his companion doubtfully. 

“Ay, as sure as I am that my name’s Jack 
Molloy.” 

“ But you’ve been shamming drunk all this time. 
How am I to know that you are not shamming friend¬ 
ship now ? ” 

“Ho, young man,” returned the seaman with 
blinking solemnity. “ I’m not shammin’ drunk. I 
on’y wish I was, for I’m three sheets in the wind at 
this minute, an’ I’ve a splittin’ headache due i’ the 
mornin’. The way as you’ve got to find out whether 
I ’in fair an’ above-board is to look me straight in 
the face an’ don’t wink. If that don’t settle the 
question, p’r’aps it ’ll convince you w’en I tells you 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


31 


that I don’t care a rap whether you go back to that 
there grog-shop or not. Only I’ll clear my con¬ 
science—leastways, wot’s left of it—by tellin’ ye 
that if you do—you—you ’ll wish as how you hadn’t 
—supposin’ they leave you the power to wish any¬ 
thing at all.” 

“Well, I believe you are a true man, Mister 
Molloy-” 

“ Don’t Mister me, mate,” interrupted the seaman. 
“My name’s Jack Molloy, at your service, an’that 
name don’t require no handle—either Mister or 
Esquire—to prop it up.” 

The way in which the sailor squared his broad 
shoulders when he said this rendered it necessary 
to prop himself up. Seeing which, Miles afforded 
the needful aid by taking his arm in a friendly way. 

“ But come, let us go back,” he said. “ I must 
pay for my beer, you know.” 

“ Your beer is paid for, young man,” said Molloy, 
stopping and refusing to move. “ I paid for it, so 
you’ve on’y got to settle with me. Besides, if you 
go back you ’re done for. And you’ve no call to go 
back to say farewell to your dear friend Sloper, for 
he ’ll on’y grieve over the loss of your tin. As to the 
unpurliteness o’ the partin’—he won’t break his 
heart over that. No—you ’ll come wi’ me down to 
the Sailors' Welcome near the dock gates, where you 
can get a good bed for sixpence a night, a heavy blow- 



32 


BLUE LIGHTS, OE 


out for tenpence, with a splendid readin’-room, full 
o’ rockin’ chairs, an’ all the rest of it for nothin’. An 
there’s a lavatory—that’s the name that they give 
to a place for cleanin’ of yourself up—a lavatory— 
where you can wash yourself, if you like, till your 
skin comes off! W’en I first putt up at the Welcome , 
the messmate as took me there said to me, says he, 
‘Jack,’ says he, ‘you was always fond o’ water.’ 
‘Eight you are,’ says I. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘there’s a 
place in the Sailors' Welcome where you can wash 
yourself all day, if you like, for nothing! ’ 

“ I do b’lieve it was that as indooced me to 
give in. I went an’ saw this lavatory, an’ I was so 
took up with it that I washed my hands in every 
bason in the place—one arter the other—an’ used 
up ever so much soap, an’—would you believe it ?— 
my hands wasn’t clean after all! Yes, it’s one o’ 
the wery best things in Portsm’uth, is Miss Eobin- 
son’s Welcome-” 

“ Miss Eobinson again ! ” exclaimed Miles. 

“Ay—wot have you got to find fault wi’ Miss 
Eobinson ? ” demanded the sailor sternly. 

“ No fault to find at all,” replied Miles, suffering 
himself to be hurried away by his new friend; “ but 
wherever I have gone since arriving in Portsmouth 
her name has cropped up! ” 

“ In Portsmouth ! ” echoed the sailor. “ Let me 
tell you, young man, that wherever you go all over 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


33 


the world, if there’s a British soldier there, Miss 
Sarah Bobinson’s name will be sure to crop up. 
Why, don’t you know that she’s ‘The Soldiers’ 
Friend’?” 

“ I’m afraid I must confess to ignorance on the 
point—yet, stay, now you couple her name with 
‘ The Soldier’s Friend,’ I have got a faint remem¬ 
brance of having heard it before. Have I not heard 
of a Miss Weston, too, in connection with a work of 
some sort among sailors ? ” 

“Ay, no doubt ye have. She has a grand Institoot 
in Portsm’uth too, but she goes in for sailors only — 
all over the kingdom—w’ereas Miss Bobinson goes 
in for soldiers an’ sailors both, though mainly for the 
soldiers. She set agoin’ the Sailors' Welcome before 
Miss Weston began in Portsm’uth, an’ so she keeps it 
up, but there ain’t no opposition or rivalry. Their 
aims is pretty much alike, an’ so they keep stroke 
together wi’ the oars. But I’ll tell you more about 
that when you get inside. Here we are! There’s 
the dock-gates, you see, and that’s Queen Street, 
an’ the Welcome *s close at hand. It’s a teetotal house, 
you know. All Miss Bobinson’s Institoots is that.” 

“ Indeed! How comes it, then, that a man—excuse 
me—‘three sheets in the wind,’can gain admittance?” 

“ Oh! as to that, any sailor or soldier may get 
admittance, even if he’s as drunk as a fiddler, if he 
on’y behaves his-self. But they won’t supply drink 
c 


34 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


on the premises, or allow it to be brought in—’cept 
inside o’ you, of coorse. Cause why ? you can’t help 
that—leastwise not without the help of a stomach- 
pump. Plenty o’ men who ain’t abstainers go to 
sleep every night at the Welcome , ’cause they find 
the beds and other things so comfortable. In fact, 
some hard topers have been indooced to take the 
pledge in consekince o’ what they’ve heard an’ seen 
in this Welcome , though they came at first only for 
the readin’-room an’ beds. Here, let me look at you 
under this here lamp. Yes. You’ll do. You’re 
something like a sea-dog already. You won’t object 
to change hats wi’ me ? ” 

“ Why ? ” asked Miles, somewhat amused. 

“ Never you mind that, mate. You just putt your¬ 
self under my orders if you’d sail comfortably before 
the wind. I ’ll arrange matters, an’ you can square 
up in the morning.” 

As Miles saw no particular reason for objecting to 
this fancy of his eccentric friend, he exchanged his 
soft cap for the sailor’s straw hat, and they entered 
the Welcome together. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


35 


CHAPTEE III. 

THE “ SAILORS* WELCOME ’’—MILES HAS A NIGHT OF IT AND ENLISTS 
—HIS FRIEND ARMSTRONG HAS AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE AT THE 
SOLDIERS’ INSTITUTE. 

It was not long before our hero discovered the 
reason of Jack Molloy’s solicitude about his appear¬ 
ance. It was that he, Miles, should pass for a sailor, 
and thus be in a position to claim the hospitality of 
the Sailors' Welcome —to the inner life of which 
civilians were not admitted, though they were privi¬ 
leged, with the public in general, to the use of the 
outer refreshment-room. 

“ Come here, Jack Molloy,” he said, leading his 
friend aside, when he made this discovery. “ You 
pride yourself on being a true-blue British tar, don’t 
you?” 

“I does,” said Jack, with a profound solemnity of 
decision that comported well with his character and 
condition. 

“And you would scorn to serve under the French 
flag, or the Turkish flag, or the Black flag, or any 
flag but the Union Jack, wouldn’t you ?” 


36 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Eight you are, mate; them ’s my sentiments to 
a tee!” 

“Well, then, you can’t expect me to sail under 
false colours any more than yourself,” continued 
Miles. “ I scorn to sail into this port under your 
straw hat, so I ’ll strike these colours, hid you good¬ 
bye, and make sail for another port where a civilian 
will be welcome.” 

Molloy frowned at the floor for some moments in 
stern perplexity. 

“ You ’ve took the wind out o’ my sails entirely, 
you have,” he replied at last; “an’ you’re right, 
young man, but I’m troubled about you. If you 
don’t run into this here port you’ll have to beat 
about in the offing all night, or cast anchor in the 
streets, for I don’t know of another lodgin’ in Ports- 
m’uth w’ere you could hang out except them dis- 
repitible grog-shops. In coorse, there’s the big 
hotels; but I heerd you say to Sloper that you was 
bound to do things cheap, bein’ hard up.” 

“Never mind, my friend,” said Miles quickly. 
“ I will manage somehow; so good-night, and many 
thanks to you for the interest you have taken in-” 

“ Avast, mate! there’s no call to go into action 
in sitch a hurry. This here Sailors' Welcome opens 
the doors of its bar an’ refreshment-room, an’ spreads 
its purvisions before all an’ sundry as can afford to 
pay its moderate demands. It’s on’y the after-cabin 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


37 


you ’re not free to. So you ’ll have a bit supper wi’ 
me before you set sail on your night cruise.” 

Being by that time rather hungry as well as 
fatigued, Miles agreed to remain for supper. While 
they were engaged with it, he was greatly impressed 
with the number of sailors and marines who passed 
into the reading-room beyond the bar, or who sat 
down at the numerous tables around to have a 
hearty supper, which they washed down with tea and 
coffee instead of beer or gin—apparently with tre¬ 
mendous appetite and much satisfaction. 

“Look ye here,” said Jack Molloy, rising when 
their “ feed ” was about concluded, “ I’ve no doubt 
they won’t object to your taking a squint at the 
readin’-room, though they won’t let you use it.” 
Following his companion, Miles passed by a glass 
double door into an enormous well-lighted, warm 
room, seventy feet long, and of proportionate width 
and height, in which a goodly number of men of the 
sea were busy as bees—some of them reading books 
or turning over illustrated papers and magazines, 
others smoking their pipes, and enjoying themselves 
in rocking-chairs in front of the glowing fire, chatting, 
laughing, and yarning as free-and-easily as if in theii 
native fo’c’s’ls, while a few were examining the 
pictures on the walls, or the large models of ships 
which stood at one side of the room. At the upper 
end a full-sized billiard-table afforded amusement to 


38 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


several players, and profound interest to a number 
of spectators, who passed their comments on the 
play with that off-hand freedom which seems to be 
a product of fresh gales and salt water. A door 
standing partly open at the upper end of this apart¬ 
ment revealed a large hall, from which issued faintly 
the sound of soft music. 

“Ain’t it snug? and there’s no gamblin’ agoin’ 
on there,” remarked Molloy, as they returned to 
their table; “ that’s not allowed—nor drinkin’, nor 
card-playin’, but that’s all they putt a stop to. 
She’s a wise woman is Miss Robinson. She don’t 
hamper us wi’ no rules. Why, bless you, Jack 
ashore would never submit to rules! He gits more 
than enough o’ them afloat. Ho; it’s liberty hall 
here. We may come an’ go as we like, at all hours 
o’ the day and night, an’ do exactly as we please, so 
long as we don’t smash up the furnitur’, or feed 
without payin’, or make ourselves a gineral noosanee. 
They don’t even forbid swearin’. They say they 
leave the matter o’ lingo to our own good taste and 
good sense. An’ d’ you know, it’s wonderful what 
an’ amount o’ both we ’ve got w’en we ain’t worried 
about it! You ’ll scarce hear an oath in this house 
from mornin’ to evenin’, though you ’ll hear a deal 
o’ snorin’ doorin’ the night! That’s how the place 
takes so well, d’ee see?” 

“ Then the Welcome is well patronised, I suppose ?” 


HOT WORK IN TIIE SOUDAN. 


39 


“ Patronised L” exclaimed the seaman ; L “ that’s so, 

an’ no mistake. Why, mate-But what’s your 

name ? I’ve forgot to ax you that all this time !” 

“ Call me Miles,” said our hero, with some hesita¬ 
tion. 

“ Call you Miles ! Ain't you Miles ?” 

“ Well, yes, I am; only there’s more of my name 
than that, but that’s enough for your purpose, I 
daresay.” 

“All right. Well, Miles, you was askin’ how the 
house is patronised. I ’ll tell ’ee. . They make up 
about two hundred an’ twenty beds in it altogether, 
an’ these are chock-full a’most every night. One 
way or another they had forty-four thousand men, 
more or less, as slep’ under this roof last year—so 
T’ve bin told. That’s patronisin’, ain’t it ? To say 
nothin’ o’ the fellers as comes for grub, which, as 
you’ve found, is good for the money, and the attend¬ 
ants is civil. You see, they’re always kind an’ 
attentive here, ’cause they professes to think more 
of our souls than our bodies—which we Ve no objec¬ 
tion to, d’ ee see, for the lookin’ arter our souls in¬ 
cludes the lookin’ arter our bodies ! An’ they don’t 
bother us in no way to attend their Bible-readin’s 
an’ sitchlike. There they are in separate rooms; if 
you want ’em you may go; if you don’t, you can let 
’em alone. No compulsion, which comes quite handy 
to some on us, for I don’t myself care much about 



40 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


sitchlike things. So long’s my body’s all right, I 
leaves my soul to look arter itself.” 

As the seaman said this with a good-natured smile 
of indifference, there sprang to the mind of his young 
companion words that had often been impressed on 
him by his mother: “ What shall it profit a man if 
he should gain the whole world, and lose his own 
soul?” but he made no reference to this at the 
time. 

“ Hows’ever,” continued Molloy, ‘‘as they don’t 
worrit us about religion, except to give us a good 
word an’ a blessin’ now an’ again, and mayhap a 
little book to read, we all patronises the house; an’ 
it’s my opinion if it was twice as big as it is we’d 
fill it chock-full. I would board as well as sleep in 
it myself—for it’s full o’ conveniences, sitch as 
lockers to putt our things in, an’ baths, and what 
not, besides all the other things I’ve mentioned— 
but the want o’ drink staggers me. I can’t git along 
without a drop o’ drink.” 

Miles thought that his nautical friend appeared 
to be unable to get along without a good many drops 
of drink, but he was too polite to say so. 

“ Man alive !” continued Jack Molloy, striking his 
huge fist on his thigh with emphasis; “ it’s a wonder¬ 
ful place is this Welcome ! An’ it’s a lively place 
too. Why, a fellow hanged hisself in one o’ the 
bunks overhead not Ions aso.” 

O O 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


41 


“You don’t mean that?” exclaimed Miles, rather 
shocked. 

“ In course I does. But they heard ’irn gaspin’, 
an’ cut him down in time to save him. It was 
drink they say as made him do it, and they got him 
to sign the pledge arterwards. I believe he’s kep’ 
it too. Leastwise I know many a hard drinker as 
have bin indooced to give it up and stuck to it—all 
through cornin’ here to have a snooze in a comfort¬ 
able bunk. They give the bunks names—cubicles 
they calls ’em in the lump. Separately, there’s the 
‘ Commodore Goodenough Cot,’ an’ the ‘ Little Nellie 
Cot,’ an’ the ‘Sunshine Cot’—so called ’cause it 
hain’t got a port-hole to let in the daylight at all; 
and the f Billy Bough ’un’-” 

“ The what ? ” 

“ ‘ The Billy Bough ’un ’—arter the ship o’ that 
name, you know-” 

“ Oh ! you mean the Bellerophon.” 

“ Well, young man, an’ didn’t I say the ‘ Billy 

Bough un’? Then there’s the- But what’s 

your hurry ?” said the seaman, as Miles rose. 

“ It’s getting late now, friend. If I’m to find 
another lodging I must be off. Doubtless, I ’ll find 
some respectable house to take me in for the night.” 
Miles suppressed a yawn as he put on his cap. 

“ I don’t believe you will,” returned Molloy, also 
rising, and giving full vent to a sympathetic and 





42 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


vociferous yawn. “ Hows’ever, w’en a young feller 
insists on havin’ his way, it’s best to give him 
plenty of cable and let him swing. He’s sure to 
find out his mistake by experience. But look ye 
here, Miles, I ’ve took a fancy to you, an’ I’d be 
sorry to think you was in difficulties. If,” he 
continued, thrusting a hand into his breeches- 
pocket, and bringing up therefrom a mass of mixed 
gold, silver, and copper—“if you don’t objec’ to 
accep’ of a loan of-” 

“ Thank you—no, my friend. It is very kind of 
you,” said Miles quickly; “ but I have quite enough 
for present necessities. So good-night.” 

“All right,” returned the sailor, thrusting the 
money back into his pocket. “ But if you should 
ever want a jaw with Jack Molloy while you’re in 
this here port you’ve only got to hail him at the 
Sailors' Welcome, an’ if he should happen to be out, 
they always can tell you where he’s cruisin’. 
Good-night, an’ luck go wi’ ye ! ” 

Another tremendous yawn finished the speech, 
and next moment Miles found himself in the street, 
oppressed with a strange and miserable sensation 
which he had never before experienced. Indeed, he 
had to lean against the house for a few minutes after 
coming out into the fresh air, and felt as if the 
power of connected thought was leaving him. 

He was aroused from this condition by the flash- 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


43 


ing of a light in his eyes. Opening them wide, he 
beheld a policeman looking at him earnestly. 

“ Now, then, young fellow,” said the guardian of 
the night; “ d’ you think you can take care of 
yourself ? ” 

“ Oh] yes, quite well. It’s only a giddy feeling 
that came over me. 1 5 m all right,” said Miles, 
rousing himself and passing on. 

He staggered slightly, however, and a short 
“ Humph ! ” from the policeman showed that he 
believed the youth to be something more than giddy. 

Ashamed to be even unjustly supposed to be 
intoxicated, Miles hurried away, wondering very 
much what could be the matter with him, for he 
had not tasted a drop of strong drink, except the 
half-glass of beer he had swallowed before Molloy 
chanced to knock it out of his hand. Suddenly he 
remembered that the sailor had said the beer was 
drugged. If he could have asked the barman who 
had served him, that worthy could have told him 
that this was true; that the whole glassful, if 
swallowed, would, ere long, have rendered him 
insensible, and that what he had already taken was 
enough to do him considerable damage. 

As he walked onward, he became rapidly worse ; 
the people and the streets seemed to swim before 
him; an intense desire to sleep overpowered every 
other feeling, and at last, turning into a dark 


44 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


entry, he lay down and pillowed his head on a 
door-step. Here he was found by a policeman; a 
stretcher was fetched, and he was conveyed to the 
station as “ drunk and incapable ” ! 

When brought before the Inspector the following 
morning, shame and reckless despair were the 
tenants of his breast. Those tenants were not 
expelled, but rather confirmed in possession, when 
the Inspector—after numerous questions, to which 
Miles returned vague unsatisfactory replies—adopted 
the role of the faithful friend, and gave him a great 
deal of paternal advice, especially with reference to 
the avoidance of strong drink and bad companions. 

Miles had the wisdom, however, to conceal his 
feelings, and to take the reproof and advice in good 
part. Afterwards, on being set free, he met a 
recruiting sergeant, who, regarding him as a suitable 
subject for the service of her Majesty, immediately 
laid siege to him. In his then state of mind the 
siege was an easy one. In short, he capitulated at 
once and entered the Queen’s service, under the 
name of John Miles. 

We need scarcely say that his heart misgave him, 
that his conscience condemned him, and that, do 
what he would, he could not shut out the fact that 
his taking so hasty and irrevocable a step was a 
poor return for all the care and anxiety of his 
parents in years gone by. But, as we have said, or 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


45 


hinted, Miles was one of those youths who, when 
they have once made up their minds to a certain 
course of action, fancy that they are hound to pursue 
it to the end. Hence it was that he gave his name as 
John Miles instead of Miles Milton, so that he might 
baffle any inquiries as to what had become of him. 

Once enlisted, he soon began to realise the fact 
that he was no longer a free agent—at least not in 
the sense in which he had been so up to that period 
of his life. Constant drill was the order of the day 
for some weeks; for there was a demand for more 
troops for Egypt at the time, and regiments were 
being made up to their full strength as fast as 
possible. 

During this period Miles saw little of his 
companions in arms personally, save that group of 
recruits who were being “ licked into shape ” along 
with him. At first he was disappointed with these, 
for most of them were shy, unlettered men; some, 
raw lads from the country; and others, men who 
seemed to have been loafers before joining, and 
were by no means attractive. 

The drill-sergeant, however, was a good, though 
stern man, and soon recognised the differences in 
character, aptitude, and willingness among his raw 
recruits. This man, whose name was Hardy, made 
a powerful impression on our hero from the first; 
there was something so quiet and even gentle about 


46 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


him, in spite of his firm and inflexible demands in 
regard to the matters of drill and duty. To please 
this man, Miles gave himself heart and soul to his 
work, and was soon so efficient as to be allowed to 
join the regiment. 

And here he found, to his surprise and satisfaction, 
that the sergeant and young soldier with whom he 
had travelled to Portsmouth were members of the 
company to which he was attached. As we have 
said, Miles had taken a great fancy at first sight to the 
young private, whose name was William Armstrong. 
Our hero was of an affectionate disposition, and 
would have allowed his warm feelings to expend 
themselves on a dog rather than have denied them 
free play. No wonder, then, that he was attracted 
by the handsome manly countenance and deferential 
manner of Armstrong, who, although an uneducated 
youth, and reared in the lower ranks of life, was 
gifted with those qualities of the true gentleman 
which mere social position can neither bestow nor 
take away. His intellect also was of that active 
and vigorous fibre which cannot be entirely re¬ 
pressed by the want of scholastic training. 

The affection was mutual, for the contrasts and 
similarities of the two men were alike calculated to 
draw them together. Both were tall, broad, square¬ 
shouldered, erect, and soldierly, yet, withal, modest 
as well in demeanour as in feeling, and so exactly 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


47 


like to eacli other in size and figure, and in the quiet 
gravity of their expressions, that they might well 
have been taken for twin brothers. When, in 
uniform, the two strode along the streets of Ports¬ 
mouth, people were apt to turn and look at them, 
and think, no doubt, that with many such men in 
the British army it would go hard with the foes of 
Old England! 

The bond of union was still further strengthened 
by the fact that while the comparatively • learned 
Miles was enthusiastic and communicative, the 
unlettered Armstrong was inquisitive and receptive, 
fond of prying into the nature of things, and always 
ready as well as competent to discuss—not merely 
to argue . Observe the distinction, good reader. 
Discussion means the shaking of any subject into 
its component parts with a desire to understand it. 
Argument has come very much to signify the 
enravelment of any subject with a view to the 
confusion and conquest of an opponent. Both 
young men abhorred the latter and liked the former. 
Hence much of their harmony and friendship. 

“ Will you come with me up town ? ” said Arm¬ 
strong to Miles one day, as he was about to quit 
the barrack-room. “I’m going to see if there’s any 
news of my Emmy.” 

“ I did not know you expected her,” said Miles. 
“ Come along, I’m ready.” 


48 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ I don’t expect her yet,” returned Armstrong, as 
they left the barracks; “ I only look for a letter, 
because it was on Wednesday that I wrote telling 
her of my going to Egypt, and she can scarce have 
had time to get ready to come down, poor girl! In 
fact I am going to engage a room for her. By the 
way, I heard this morning that there’s to be another 
draft for Egypt, so you ’ll have a chance to go.” 

“ I’m rejoiced to hear it,” returned Miles ; “ for, to 
say the truth, I had been growing envious of your 
good fortune in being ordered on active service.” 

“ Hooroo, Armstrong, where away now ? ” cried an 
unmistakably Irish voice, as a smart little soldier 
crossed the street to them, and was introduced to 
Miles as Corporal Flynn, belonging to another com¬ 
pany in his own regiment. 

“ My blissin’ on ye, Miles. John, is it ? ” 

“ Yes, John,” replied our hero, much amused at 
the free-and-easy address of the little corporal. 

“ Well, John Miles,” he said, “ I don’t know 
whether ye ’ll laugh or cry whin I tell ye that you ’ll 
likely be warned this evenin’ for the draft that’s 
goin’ to Aigypt.” 

“ I certainly won’t cry,” returned Miles, with a 
laugh. Yet the news brought a sudden feeling into 
his breast which was strongly allied to the opposite 
of laughter, for the thought of parting from father 
and mother without bidding them farewell fell upon 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


49 


his spirit with crushing weight; but, like too many 
men who know they are about to do wrong, Miles 
hardened his heart with the delusive argument 
that, having fairly taken the step, it was impossible 
for him now to retrace it. He knew—at least he 
thought—that there was still the possibility of 
being bought off, and that his stern father would 
only be too glad to help him. He also knew that 
at least he had time to write and let them know 
his circumstances, so that they might run down to 
Portsmouth and bid him good-bye; but he had 
taken the bit in his teeth, and now he resolved to 
abide the consequences. 

Turning from his companions while they con¬ 
versed, he looked into a shop-window. 

“Your chum’s in the blues,” said the lively 
corporal, in a lower voice. 

“Young fellows are often in that state after 
joining, ain’t they ? ” returned Armstrong. 

“True for ye—an’ more shame to them, whin 
they ought to be as proud as paycocks at wearin’ 
her gracious Majesty’s uniform. But good luck 
to ’ee! I must be off, for I’m bound for Aigypt 
mesilf.” 

“ I am glad that I shall have the chance of seeing 
your wife, for I’ve been much interested in her since 
your friend Sergeant Gilroy told me about her,” said 
Miles, as they resumed their walk. “ Surely it is 

p 


50 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


hard of them to refuse to let her go with the 
regiment.” 

“Well, it is hard,” returned the young soldier; 
“ hut after all I cannot find fault with the powers 
that he, for I married with my eyes open. I knew 
the rule that those who marry without leave must 
leave their wives at home, for only a certain number 
of families can go abroad with a regiment—and that 
only in peace-time.” 

“ It might have been well,” continued Armstrong, 
slowly, while a sad expression clouded his face for 
a few moments, “ if I had waited, and many a time 
has my conscience smitten me for my haste. But 
what could I do ? Emmy most unaccountably fell 
in love wi’ me —thank God! for I do think that 
the greatest earthly blessing that can be given to 
mortal man is the love of a gentle, true-hearted 
girl. The wealth of the Indies cannot purchase 
that, and nothing else in life can supply the want 
of it. Can you wonder that I grasped the treasure 
when within my reach ? ” 

“I certainly cannot; and as certainly I do not 
blame you,” returned the sympathetic Miles. 

“ Of course I fell in love with Emmy,” continued 
the soldier, with a slightly confused look. “ I could 
no more help that than I could help growing up. 
Could I ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” said Miles, 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


51 


"Well, you see,” continued his friend, “as the 
affair was arranged in heaven, according to general 
belief, what was I that I should resist ? You see, 
Emmy’s father, who’s a well-to-do farmer, was will¬ 
ing, and we never gave a thought to Egypt or the 
war at the time. She will be well looked after 
while I’m away, and I ’ll send her every penny of 
my pay that I can spare, but-” 

He stopped abruptly, and Miles, respecting his 
feelings, remarked, by way of changing the subject, 
that the pay of a private soldier being so small 
very little could be saved out of that. 

“Hot much,” assented his comrade; “but, little as 
it is, we can increase it in various ways. For one 
thing, I have given up smoking. That will save a 
little; though, to say truth, I have never expended 
much on baccy. Then I have joined Miss Robinson’s 
Temperance Band-” 

“Strange how often that lady’s name has been 
in my ears since I came to Portsmouth! ” said 
Miles. 

“ Hot so strange after all,” returned Armstrong, 
“ when one reflects that she has been the means of 
almost changing the character of the town within 
the last few years—as far at least as concerns the 
condition of soldiers, as well as many of the poorer 
classes among its inhabitants—so Sergeant Gilroy 
tells me.” 



52 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


As some of the information given by Sergeant 
Gilroy to the young soldier may be interesting to 
many readers, we quote a few of his own words. 

“Why, some years ago,” he said, “the soldiers’ 
wives, mothers, and sisters who came down here to 
see the poor fellows set sail for foreign parts found 
it almost impossible to obtain lodgings, except in 
drinking-houses which no respectable woman could 
enter. Some poor women even preferred to spend 
a winter night under railway arches, or some such 
shelier, rather than enter these places. And soldiers 
out of barracks had nowhere else to go to for amuse¬ 
ment, while sailors on leave had to spend their nights 
in them or walk the streets. Now all that is 
changed. The Soldiers’ Institute supplies 140 beds, 
and furnishes board and lodging to our sisters and 
wives at the lowest possible rates, besides reception- 
rooms where we can meet our friends; a splendid 
reading-room, where we find newspapers and maga¬ 
zines, and can write our letters, if we like, in peace 
and quiet; a bar where tea and coffee, bread and 
butter, buns, etc., can be had at all reasonable hours 
for a mere trifle; a coffee and smoking room, opening 
out of which are two billiard-rooms, and beyond 
these a garden, where we can get on the flat roof of 
a house and watch the arrival and departure of 
shipping. There is a small charge to billiard- 
players, which pays all expenses of the tables, 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


53 


so that not a penny of the Institute funds is spent 
on the games. Of course no gambling is allowed in 
any of Miss Robinson’s Institutes. Then there are 
Bible-class rooms, and women’s work-rooms, and a 
lending library, and bathrooms, and a great hall, 
big enough to hold a thousand people, where there 
are held temperance meetings, lectures with dis¬ 
solving views, entertainments, and ‘ tea-fights,’ and 
Sunday services. No wonder that, with such an 
agency at work for the glory of God and the good 
of men, Portsmouth is almost a new place. Indeed, 
although Miss Robinson met with powerful opposi¬ 
tion at first from the powers that be, her Institute 
is now heartily recognised and encouraged in every 
way at the Horse Guards. Indeed, it has recently 
been visited by the Prince of Wales and the Duke 
of Cambridge, and highly approved of by these and 
other grandees.” 

While the two soldiers were chatting about the 
past and present of the Institute they arrived at its 
door. 

“ Here we are. Come into the reception-room, 
Miles, while I make inquiry about my letters.” 

They entered the house as he spoke. The 
reception-room is on the right of the passage. 
Armstrong opened the door and looked in, but, 
instead of advancing, he stood transfixed, gazing 
before him open-mouthed as though he had seen 


54 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


a spectre, for there, in front of the fire, sat a 
beautiful, refined-looking girl, with golden hair 
and blue eyes, gazing pensively at the flickering 
flames. 

Miles was not kept long in suspense as to who 
she was. 

“Emmy!” 

“ Oh, Willie!” 

were exclamations which would have revealed 
all in a moment, even though Emmy had not 
sprung up and rushed into Willie’s open arms. 
How she ever emerged from the embrace of those 
arms with unbroken bones is a mystery which 
cannot be solved, but she did emerge in safety, and 
with some confusion on observing that Miles had 
witnessed the incident with admiring gaze ! 

“ Never mind him, Emmy,” said the young soldier, 
laughing; “ he’s a good friend, a comrade. Shake 
hands with him.” 

The action, and the ease of manner with which 
Emmy obeyed, proved that grace and small hands 
are not altogether dependent on rank or station. 

“Excuse me,” said Miles, after a few words of 
salutation; “ I ’ll go and have a look at the library.” 

So saying he quitted the room, leaving the young 
couple alone; for there chanced to be no other 
visitors to the reception-room at the time. In the 
lobby he found several soldiers and a couple of 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


55 


sailors enjoying coffee at the bar, and was about to 
join them when a man came forward whose dress 
was that of a civilian, though his bearing proclaimed 
him a soldier. 

“Hallo, Brown,” exclaimed one of the soldiers, 
“ d’ ye know that a troop-ship has just come in 1 ” 

“Know it? of course I do; you may trust the 
people of this house to be first in hearing such news. 
Mr. Tufnell told me of it. I’m just going down to 
the jetty to boil the kettle for them.” 

As he spoke, two ladies of the Institute descended 
the broad staircase, each with a basket on her arm. 

They entered into conversation for a few minutes 
with the soldiers at the bar, and it was abundantly 
evident to Miles, from the kindly tone of the former 
and the respectful air of the latter, that they were 
familiar acquaintances, and on the best of terms. 

“ Are you all ready, Brown ? ” asked one of the 
ladies of the soldier-like civilian, whom we have 
already mentioned. 

“ All ready, Miss ; a man has already gone to order 
the bread and butter and light the fire. I hear the 
vessel is crowded, so we may expect a full house 
to-night.” 

Miles pricked up his ears on hearing this, and 
when Brown went out, leaving the two ladies to 
finish their conversation with the soldiers, he 
followed him. 


56 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Pardon me,” lie said, on overtaking the man. 
“ Did I understand correctly that a troop-ship has 
just arrived ? ” 

“Eight,” said Brown. “I am just going down to 
the embarkation jetty to get coffee ready for the men. 
You seem to have joined but a short time, apparently, 
for though I am familiar with your uniform I have 
not seen yourself before.” 

“True, it is not long since I joined, and this is 
my first visit to the Institute.” 

“I hope it won’t be the last, friend,” returned 
'Brown heartily. “ Every soldier is welcome there, 
and, for the matter of that, so is every sailor and 
marine.” 

“ I have heard as much. May I accompany you 
to this jetty to see the troops arrive, and this coffee 
business that you speak of?” 

“ You may, and welcome,” said Brown, leading his 
companion through the town in the direction of the 
docks, and chatting, as they walked along, about 
the army and navy; about his own experiences in 
the former; and about the condition of soldiers at 
the present time as contrasted with that of the days 
gone by. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


57 


CHAPTEE IY. 

THE EMBARKATION JETTY—AND NIPPED IN THE BUD. 

Bronzed faces under white helmets crowded the 
ports and bulwarks of the great white leyiathan of 
the deep—the troop-ship Orontes —as she steamed 
slowly and cautiously up to the embarkation jetty 
in Portsmouth harbour. 

On the jetty itself a few anxious wives, mothers, 
and sisters stood eagerly scanning the sea of faces 
in the almost hopeless endeavour to distinguish 
those for which they sought. Yet ever and anon an 
exclamation on the jetty, and an answering wave of 
an arm on the troop-ship, told that some at least 
of the anxious ones had been successful in the 
search. 

“Don’t they look weatherbeaten?” remarked Miles 
to his companion. 

“ Sure it’s more like sun-dried they are,” answered 
a voice at his side. Brown had gone to the shed to 
prepare his coffee and bread against the landing of 
the troops, and a stout Irishwoman had taken his 


58 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


place. Close to her stood the two ladies from the 
Institute with baskets on their arms. 

“ You are right,” returned Miles, with a smile; 
“they look like men who have seen service. Is 
your husband among them ? ” 

“ Faix, I’d be sorprised if he was,” returned the 
woman; “ for I left him in owld Ireland, in the only 
landed property he iver held in this world—six futt 
by two, an’ five deep. He’s been in possession six 
years now, an’ it wouldn’t be aisy to drive him out 
o’ that , anyhow. No, it’s my son Terence I’ve 
come to look afther. Och! there he is ! Look, look, 
that’s him close by the funnel! Don’t ye see ’im? 
Blissins on his good-lookin’ face ! Hooroo ! Terence 
—Terrence Flynn, don’t ye recognise yer owld 
mother ? Sure an’ he does, though we haven’t met 
for tin year. My! hasn’t he got the hair on his 
lips too—an’ his cheeks are like shoe-leather— my 
darlint! ” 

As the enthusiastic mother spoke in the tones of 
a public orator, there was a general laugh among 
those who were nearest to her; but she was forgotten 
immediately, for all were too deeply intent on their 
own interests to pay much regard to each other just 
then. 

The-great vessel was slow in getting alongside 
and making fast to the jetty—slow at least in the 
estimation of the impatient—for although she might 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


59 


leap and career grandly in wanton playfulness while 
on her native billows, in port a careless touch from 
her ponderous sides would have crushed part of the 
jetty into fragments. Miles therefore had ample 
time to look about him at the various groups around. 

One young woman specially attracted his atten¬ 
tion, for she stood apart from every one, and seemed 
scarcely able to stand because of weakness. She 
was young and good-looking. Her face, which was 
deadly pale, contrasted strongly with her glossy 
raven-black hair, and the character of her dress 
denoted extreme poverty. 

The ladies from the Institute had also observed 
this poor girl, and one of them, going to her side, 
quietly addressed her. Miles, from the position in 
which he stood, could not avoid overhearing what 
was said. 

“Yes, Miss, I expect my husband,” said the 
woman in answer to a question. “He’s coming 
home on sick-leave. I had a letter from him a 
good while ago saying he was coming home in the 
Orontes .” 

“ I hope you will find that the sea air has done 
him good,” said the lady, in that tone of unobtrusive 
sympathy which is so powerfully attractive,— 
especially to those who are in trouble. “A sea 
voyage frequently has a wonderful effect in restor¬ 
ing invalids. What is his name ? ” 


60 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Martin—Fred Martin. He’s a corporal now.” 

“ You have not recognised him yet, I suppose ? ” 

“ Hot yet, Miss,” answered Mrs. Martin, with an 
anxious look, and shivering slightly as she drew 
a thin worn shawl of many patches closer round 
her shoulders. But he wouldn’t expect me to meet 
him, you see, knowing that I’m so poor, and live 
far from Portsmouth. But I was so anxious, you 
see, Miss, that our kind Vicar gave me enough 
money to come down.” 

“ Where did you spend the night ? ” asked the 
lady, quickly. 

The poor woman hesitated, and at last said she 
had spent the night walking about the streets. 

“ You see, Miss,” she explained apologetically, “ I 
didn’t know a soul in the town, and I couldn’t a-bear 
to go into any o’ the public-houses; besides, I had 
no money, for the journey down took nearly all of 
it.” 

' “ Oh, I am so sorry that you didn’t know of our 
Institute,” said the lady, with much sympathy in 
voice and look ; “ for we provide accommodation 
for soldiers’ wives who come, like you, to meet their 
husbands returning from abroad, and we charge 
little, or even nothing, if they are too poor to pay.” 

“ Indeed, Miss! I wish I had known of it. But in 
the morning I had the luck to meet a policeman 
who directed me to a coffee-tavern in a place called 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


61 


Nobbs Lane—you’ll not know it, Miss, for it’s in a 
very poor part o’ the town—where I got a breakfast 
of as much hot pea-soup and bread as I could eat 
for three-ha’pence, an’ had a good rest beside the 
fire too. They told me it was kept by a Miss 
Eobinson. God bless her whoever she is 1 for I do 
believe I should have been dead by now if I hadn’t 
got the rest and the breakfast.” 

The woman shivered again as she spoke, and drew 
the thin shawl still closer, for a sharp east wind was 
blowing over the jetty at the time. 

“ Come with me; you are cold. I know Nobbs 
Lane well. We have a shed and fire here on the 
jetty to shelter people while waiting. There, you 
need not fear to miss your husband, for the men 
won’t land for a long time yet.” 

“ May I follow you, madam ? ” said Miles, stepping 
forward and touching his cap in what he supposed 
to be the deferential manner of a private soldier. 
“ I am interested in your work, and would like to 
see the shed you speak of.” 

The lady looked up quickly at the tall young 
soldier who thus addressed her. 

“I saw you in the lobby of the Institute this 
morning, did I not ? ” 

You did, madam. I was waiting for a friend who 
is a frequenter of the Institute. One of your own 
people brought me down here to see the arrival of 




62 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


the Orontes , and the coffee-shed; but I have lost him 
in the crowd, and know T not where the shed is.” 

“ Here it is,” returned the lady, pointing to an iron 
structure just behind them. “You will find Mr. 
Brown there busy with the coffee, and that small 
shed beside it is the shelter-room. You are welcome 
to inspect all our buildings at any time.” 

So saying, the lady led Mrs. Martin into the shed 
last referred to, and Miles followed her. 

There was a small stove, in the solitary iron room 
of which the shed consisted, which diffused a genial 
warmth around. Several soldiers’ wives and female 
relatives were seated beside it, engaged in quieting 
refractory infants, or fitting a few woollen garments 
on children of various ages. These garments had 
been brought from the Institute, chiefly for the 
purpose of supplying the wives and children return¬ 
ing from warmer climes to England; and one of them, 
a thick knitted shawl, was immediately presented to 
Mrs. Martin as a gift, and placed round her shoulders 
by the lady’s own hands. 

“ You are very kind, Miss,” she said, an unbidden 
tear rolling down her cheek as she surveyed the 
garment and folded it over her breast. 

“ Have you any children ? ” asked the lady. 

“ Hone. We had one—a dear baby boy,” answered 
the young wife sadly, “born after his father left 
England. God took him home when he was two 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


63 


years old. His father never saw him; but we shall 
all meet again/ she added, brightly, “ in the better 
land.” 

“ Ah ! it makes me glad to hear you say that God 
took him home. Only the spirit of Jesus could make 
you regard heaven as the home where you are all to 
meet again. How I would advise you to sit here and 
keep warm till I go and make inquiry about your 
husband. It is quite possible, you know, that he 
may be in the sick bay, and they won’t let any one 
on board till the vessel is made fast. You are quite 
sure, I suppose, that it was the Orontes in which your 
husband said he was coming ? ” 

“ Yes, quite sure.” 

The lady had asked the question because a vague 
fear possessed her regarding the cause of the soldier’s 
not having been seen looking eagerly over the side 
like the other men. 

Hurrying from the shed, with her basket on her 
arm, she made for the gangway, which had just been 
placed in position. She was accompanied by her 
companion, also carrying her basket. Miles took 
the liberty of following them closely, but not ob¬ 
viously, for he formed only one of a stream of men 
and women who pushed on board the instant that 
permission was given. 

While one of the ladies went in search of one of 
the chief officers, the other quietly and unobtrusively 


64 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 




advanced among the returning warriors, and, open- ! 
ing her basket, drew therefrom and offered to each 
soldier an envelope containing one or two booklets 
and texts, and a hearty invitation to make free use of 
the Soldiers’ Institute during their stay in Ports¬ 
mouth. 

A most bewildering scene was presented on the 
deck of that great white vessel. There were hundreds 
of soldiers in her, returning home after longer or 
shorter absences in China, India, the Cape, and other 
far-away parts of the earth. Some were stalwart and 
bronzed by the southern sun; others were gaunt, weak, 
and cadaverous, from the effect of sickness, exposure, 
or wounds; but all were more or less excited at 
having once again set eyes on Old England, and at 
the near prospect of once more embracing wives, 
mothers, and sweethearts, and meeting with old 
friends. The continual noise of manly voices hailing, 
exclaiming, chaffing, or conversing, and the general 
babel of sounds is indescribable. To Miles Milton, 
who had never before even imagined anything of the 
sort, it seemed more like a vivid dream than a reality. 
He became so bewildered with trying to attend to 
everything at once that he lost sight of the shorter 
of the ladies, whom he was following, but, pushing 
ahead, soon found her again in the midst of a 
group of old friends—though still young soldiers— 
who had known the Institute before leaving for 


HOT WORK IN TIIE SOUDAN. 


65 


foreign service, and were eagerly inquiring after the 
health of Miss Eobinson, and Tufnell the manager, 
and others. 

During his progress through this bustling scene, 
Miles observed that the soldiers invariably received 
the gifts from the lady with respect, and, many of 
them, with hearty expressions of thanks, while a few 
stopped her to speak about the contents of the 
envelopes. So numerous were the men that the 
work had to be done with business-like celerity, but 
the visitor was experienced. While wasting no time 
in useless delay, she never hurried her movements, or 
refused to stop and speak, or forced her way through 
the moving throng. Almost unobserved, save by the 
men who chanced to be next to her, she glided in 
and out amongst them like a spirit of light—which, 
in the highest sense, she was—intent on her bene¬ 
ficent mission. Her sole aim was to save the men 
from the tremendous dangers that awaited them on 
landing in Portsmouth, and bring them under 
Christian influence. 

Those dangers may be imagined when it is told 
that soldiers returning from abroad are often in pos¬ 
session of large sums of money, and that harpies of 
all kinds are eagerly waiting to plunder them on 
their arrival. On one occasion a regiment came 
home, and in a few days squandered three thousand 
pounds in Portsmouth. Much more might be said 
E 


66 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


on this point, but enough has been indicated to 
move thoughtful minds—and our story waits. 

Suddenly the attention of Miles, and every one 
near him, was attracted by the loud Hibernian yell 
of a female voice exclaiming— 

“ Oh, Terence, me darlin’ son, here ye are; an’ is 
it yersilf lookin’ purtier a long way than the day ye 
left me; an’ niver so much as a scratch on yer face 
for all the wars ye’ve bin in—bad luck to thim! ” 

Need we say that this was Mrs. Flynn ? In her 
anxiety to meet her son she had run against in¬ 
numerable men and women, who remonstrated with 
her variously, according to temperament, without, 
however, the slightest effect. Her wild career was 
not checked until she had flung herself into the 
arms of a tall, stalwart trooper with drooping mou¬ 
stache, who would have done credit to any nation¬ 
ality under the sun, and whose enthusiasm at the 
happy meeting with his mother was almost as 
demonstrative as her own, but more dignified. 

Others there were, however, whose case was very 
different. One who came there to meet the strong 
healthy man to whom she had said good-bye at the 
same spot several years before, received him back a 
worn and wasted invalid, upright still with the martial 
air of discipline, but feeble, and with something like 
the stamp of death upon his brow. Another woman 
found her son, strong indeed and healthy, as of yore, 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 67 

but with an empty sleeve where his right arm 
should have been—his days of warfare over before 
his earthly sun had reached the zenith ! 

Whilst Miles was taking note of these things, and 
moralising in spite of his distaste just then to that 
phase of mental occupation, the other lady of the 
Institute appeared and spoke hurriedly to her com¬ 
panion. 

“ Go,” she said, “ tell Mrs. Martin that her husband 
is not on board the Orontes. Let Tufnell, if he is at 
the shed, or our missionary, take her up to the 
Institute without delay. Let them take this note to 
Miss Robinson at the same time.” 

The younger lady looked inquiringly at her com¬ 
panion, but the latter pushed on hurriedly and was 
soon lost in the crowd, so she went at once on 
shore to obey her instructions. 

Being thus left to look after himself, Miles went 
about gazing at the varied, interesting, and curious 
scenes that the vessel presented. No one took any 
notice of him, for he was only one soldier among 
hundreds, and so many people from the shore had 
been admitted by that time that strange faces 
attracted no attention. 

We have referred chiefly to soldiers’ friends, but 
these, after all, formed a small minority of the 
visitors, many of whom were tradesmen of the 
town—tailors, shoemakers, and vendors of fancy 






68 


BLUE LIGHTS, OH 


articles—who had come down with their wares to 
tempt the returning voyagers to part with their 
superfluous cash. Even in the midst of all the - 
pushing and confusion, one man was seen trying on 
a pair of boots; near to him was a sailor, carefully 
inspecting a tailor’s book of patterns with a view to 
shore-going clothes; while another, more prompt in 
action, was already being measured for a suit of the 
same. 

Descending to the ’tween-decks, our hero found 
that the confusion and noise there were naturally 
greater, the space being more limited and the noise 
confined. There was the addition of bad air and 
disagreeable smells here; and Miles could not help 
reflecting on the prospect before him of long voyages 
under cramped circumstances, in the midst of 
similar surroundings. But, being young and en¬ 
thusiastic, he whispered to himself that he was 
not particular, and was ready to “ rough it ” in his 
country’s cause! 

In a remarkably dark region to which he pene¬ 
trated, he found himself in the women’s quarters, 
the disagreeables of which were increased by the 
cries of discontented children, and the yells of in¬ 
consolable infants—some of whom had first seen the 
light of this world in the sad twilight of ’tween- 
decks! Shrinking from that locality, Miles pur¬ 
sued his investigations, and gradually became aware 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


69 


that sundry parrots and other pets which the 
soldiers and sailors had brought home were adding 
their notes of discord to the chorus of sounds. 

While he was looking at and attempting to pat 
a small monkey, which received his advances with 
Looks of astonished indignation, he became conscious 
of the fact that a number of eyes were looking down 
on him through a crevice at the top of a partition 
close to his side. 

“ Who are these ? ” he asked of a sailor, who stood 
near him. 

“ Why, them are the long-term men.” 

“ I suppose you mean prisoners ? ” 

“ Yes ; that’s about it,” replied the tar. “ Soldiers 
as has committed murder—or suthin’ o’ that sort— 
an’ got twenty year or more for all I knows. The 
other fellers further on there, in chains, is short¬ 
term men. Bin an’ done suthin’ or other not quite 
so bad, I suppose.” 

Miles advanced “ further on,” and found eight 
men seated on the deck and leaning against the 
bulkhead. If his attention had not been drawn to 
them, he might have supposed they were merely 
-esting, but a closer glance showed that they were 
11 chained to an iron bar. They did not seem very 
afferent from the other men around them, save 
hat they were, most of them, stern and silent. 

A powerful feeling of compassion rose in our 


70 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


hero’s breast as he looked at these moral wrecks of 
humanity; for their characters and prospects were 
ruined, though their 'physique was not much impaired. 
It seemed to him such an awful home-coming, after, 
perhaps, long years of absence, thus, in the midst of 
all the bustle and joy of meetings and of pleasant 
anticipations, to be waiting there for the arrival of 
the prison-van, and looking forward to years of 
imprisonment instead of reunion with friends and 
kindred. 

At sight of them a thought sprang irresistibly into 
our hero’s mind, “ This is the result of wrong¬ 
doing ! ” 

His conscience was uncomfortably active and 
faithful that morning. Somehow it pointed out to 
him that wrong-doing was a long ladder; that the 
chained criminals before him had reached the foot; 
and that he stood on the topmost rung. That 
was all the difference between them and himself— 
a difference of degree, not of principle. 

Pushing his way a little closer to these men, he 
found that his was not the only heart that pitied 
them. His friend, the younger lady, was there 
speaking to them. He could not hear what she said, 
for the noise drowned her voice; but her earnest, 
eager look and her gesticulations told well enough 
that she was pointing them to the Saviour of sinners 
—with what effect, of course, he could not tell, but 
















































































































































































































































































HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


71 


} was evident that the prisoners at least gave her 
heir attention. 

Leaving her thus engaged, Miles continued for 

considerable time his progress through the ship, 
afterwards he observed, by a movement among the 
len, that a detachment was about to land. In- 
eed he found that some of the soldiers had already 
mded, and were making their way to the coffee- 
sned. 

Following these quickly to the same place, he 
found that innumerable cups of hot coffee and solid 
slices of bread and butter were being served out as 
fast as they could be filled and cut. A large hole 
or window opened in the side of the shed, the shutter 
of which was hinged at the bottom, and when let 
down formed a convenient counter. 

Behind this counter stood the two ubiquitous 
ladies of the Institute acting the part of barmaids, 
as if to the manner born, and with the same 
business-like, active, yet modest, ready-for-anything 
air which marked all their proceedings. 

And truly their post was no sinecure. To supply 
the demands of hundreds of hungry and thirsty 
warriors was not child’s-play. Inside the shed, Miles 
found his friend Brown busy with a mighty caldron 
of hot water, numerous packets of coffee, and 
immense quantities of sugar and preserved milk. 
Brown was the fountain-head. The ladies were the 



72 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


distributing pipes—if we may say so ; and although 
the fountain produced can after can of the coveted 
liquid with amazing rapidity, and with a prodigality 
of material that would have made the hair of a 
private housewife stand on end, it was barely 
possible to keep pace with the demand. 

At a large table one of the missionaries of the 
Institute cut up and buttered loaves at a rate which 
gave the impression that he was a conjurer engaged 
in a species of sleight-of-hand. The butter, however, 
troubled him, for, the weather being cold, it was 
hard, and would not spread easily. To overcome 
this he put a pound or so of it on a plate beside the 
boiler-fire to soften. Unfortunately, he temporarily 
forgot it, and on afterwards going for it, found that 
it had been reduced to a yellow liquid. However, 
hungry soldiers, rejoicing in the fact of having at 
last reached home, are not particular. Some of 
them, unaccustomed no doubt to be served by ladies, 
asked for their supply deferentially, accepted it 
politely, and drank it with additional appreciation. 

“We want more, Brown,” said one of the ladies, 
glancing back over her shoulder as she poured out 
the last drop from her large jug; “and more buns 
and bread, please.” 

“ Here you are, Miss,” cried Brown, who was warm 
by that time in spite of the weather, as he bore his 
brimming and steaming pitcher to the window—or 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


73 


hole in the wall—and replenished the jugs. “ The 
buns are all done, an’ the bread won’t hold out long, 
but I’ve sent for more; it won’t be long. I see we 
shall need several more brews,” he added, as he 
turned again towards the inexhaustible boiler. 

“ Shall I assist you ? ” said Miles, stepping into 
the shed and seizing a loaf and a knife. 

“ Thank you. Go ahead,” said Brown. 

“ Put another lump of butter near the fire,” said 
the missionary to our hero; “ not too close. I melted 
the last lump altogether.” 

“ A cup o’ coffee for my Terence, an’ wan for 
mesilf, my dear,” exclaimed a loud voice outside. 

There was' no mistaking the speaker. Some of 
the men who crowded round the counter laughed, 
others partially choked, when the strapping Terence 
said in a hoarse whisper, “ Whist, mother, be civil; 
don’t ye see that it’s ladies, no less, is sarvin’ of us ? ” 

“ Please, ma’am, can I ’ave some coffee ? ” asked a 
modest soldier’s wife, who looked pale and weary 
after the long voyage, with three children to look 
after. 

A cup was promptly supplied, and three of the 
newly-arrived buns stopped the mouths of her 
clamorous offspring. 

“Can ye give me a cup o’ tea?” demanded 
another soldier’s wife, who was neither so polite nor 
so young as the previous applicant. 



74 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


It is probable that the ladies did not observe the 
nature of her demand, else they would doubtless 
have explained that they had no tea, but a cup of 
coffee was silently handed to her. 

“Ah! this is real home-tea, this is,” she said, 
smacking her lips after the first sip. “A mighty 
difference ’tween this an’ what we’ve bin used to in 
the ship.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” assented her companion. 

Whether it was tea she had been accustomed to 
drink on board the troop-ship we cannot tell, but 
probably she was correct as to the " mighty differ¬ 
ence.” It may be that the beverages supplied in 
foreign lands had somewhat damaged the power of 
discrimination as to matters of taste in these soldiers’ 
wives. At all events an incident which occurred 
about the same time justifies this belief. 

“ Mr. Miles,” said the missionary, pausing a 
moment to wipe his brow in the midst of his 
labours, “ will you fetch the butter now ? ” 

Miles turned to obey with alacrity—with too 
much alacrity, indeed, for in his haste he knocked 
the plate over, and sent the lump of butter into the 
last prepared “ brew ” of coffee! 

“Hallo! I say!” exclaimed Brown, in consternation. 

“ More coffee, Brown,” demanded the ladies simul¬ 
taneously, at that inauspicious moment. 

“Yes,Miss, I—I’m coming—directly,” cried Brown. 


HOT WOEK IN THE SOUDAN. 


75 


“ Do be quick, please!” 

“ What’s to be done?” said Brown, making futile 
endeavours to fish out the slippery mass with the 
stirring-stick. 

“ Shove it down and stir it well about,” suggested 
Miles. 

Whether conscience was inoperative at that 
moment we know not, but Brown acted on the sug¬ 
gestion, and briskly amalgamated the butter with 
the coffee, while the crowd at the port-hole politely 
but continuously demanded more. 

“Don’t be in a ’urry, Tom,” cried a corporal, 
removing his pith helmet in order to run his fingers 
through his hair; “it’s a ’eavenly state o’ things 
now to what it was a few years ago, w’en we an 
our poor wives ’ad to sit ’ere for hours in the heat 
or cold, wet or dry, without shelter, or a morsel to 
eat, or a drop to drink, till we got away up town to 
the grog-shops.” 

“Well, this is civilisation at last!” remarked a 
handsome and hearty young fellow, who had appa¬ 
rently been ignorant of the treat in store for him, 
and who sauntered up to the shed just as the butter- 
brew was beginning to be served out. 

“Why, I declare, it’s chocolate!” exclaimed one 
of the women, who had been already served with a 
cup, and had resolved to “ go in,” as she said, for 
another pennyworth. 



76 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ So it is. My! ain’t it nice ?” said her companion, 
smacking her lips. 

Whether the soldiers fell into the same mistake, 
or were too polite to take notice of it, we cannot 
tell, for they drank it without comment, and with 
evident satisfaction, like men of simple tastes and 
uncritical minds. 

We turn now to a very different scene. 

In one of the private sitting-rooms of the Institute 
sat poor young Mrs. Martin, the very embodiment 
of blank despair. The terrible truth that her hus¬ 
band had died and been buried at sea had been 
gently and tenderly broken to her by Miss Bobinson. 

At first the poor girl could not—would not— 
believe it. Then, as the truth gradually forced itself 
into her brain, she subsided into a tearless, expression¬ 
less, state of quiescence that seemed to indicate a 
mind unhinged. In this state she remained for some 
time, apparently unconscious of the kind words of 
Christian love that were addressed to her. 

At last she seemed to rouse herself, and gazed 
wildly round the room. 

“ Let me go,” she said. “ I will find him some¬ 
where. Don’t hinder me, please.” 

“ But you cannot go anywhere till you have had 
food and rest, dear child,” said her sympathetic 
comforter, laying her hand gently on the girl’s arm. 
“ Come with me.” 


HOT WOKK IN THE SOUDAN. 


77 


She sought to lead her away, but the girl shook 
her off. 

“ No,” she exclaimed, starting up hastily, so that 
the mass of her dark hair fell loose upon her 
shoulders, contrasting forcibly with the dead white¬ 
ness of her face and lips. “ No. I cannot go with 
you. Fred will be getting impatient. D’ you think 
I ’ll ever believe it ? Dead and buried in the sea ? 
Never!” 

Even while she spoke, the gasp in her voice, and 
the pressure of both hands on her poor heart, told 
very plainly that the young widow did indeed 
believe it. 

“ Oh! may God Himself comfort you, dear child,” 
said the lady, taking her softly by the hand. 
“ Come—come with me.” 

Mrs. Martin no longer refused. Her spirit, 
which had flashed up for a moment, seemed to col¬ 
lapse, and without another word of remonstrance 
she meekly suffered herself to be guided to a private 
room, where she was put to bed. 

She never rose from that bed. Friendless, and 
without means, she would probably have perished in 
the streets, or in one of the dens of Portsmouth, had 
she not been led to this refuge. As it was, they 
nursed her there, and did all that human skill and 
Christian love could devise; but her heart was 
broken. Towards the end she told them, in a 



78 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


, faint voice, that her Fred had been stationed at 
Alexandria, and that while there he had been led 
to put his trust in the Saviour. She knew nothing 
of the details. All these, and much more, she had 
expected to hear from his own lips. 

“But he will tell me all about it soon, thank 
God!” were the last words she uttered as she turned 
her eyes gratefully on the loving strangers who had 
found and cared for her in the dark day of her 
calamity. 




DIFFICULTIES MET AND OVERCOME. 

Miles and his friend Brown, after their work at 
the jetty, had chanced to return to the Institute at 
the moment referred to in the last chapter, when the 
poor young widow, having become resigned, had been 
led through the passage to her bedroom. Our hero 
happened to catch sight of her face, and it made a 
very powerful impression on him—an impression 
which was greatly deepened afterwards on hearing 
of her death. 

In the reception-room he found Armstrong still 
in earnest conversation with his wife. 

“ Hallo, Armstrong! still here 1 Have you been 
sitting there since I left you?” he asked, with a 
smile and look of surprise. 

“ Oh no ! ” answered ' his friend; “ not all the 
time. We have been out walking about town, 
and we have had dinner here—an excellent feed, 
let me tell you, and cheap too. But where did 
you run off to ?” 


80 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Sit down and I ’ll tell you,” said Miles. 

Thereupon he related all about his day’s experi¬ 
ences. When he had finished, Armstrong told him 
that his own prospect of testing the merits of a troop¬ 
ship were pretty fair, as he was ordered for inspec¬ 
tion on the following day. 

“ So you see,” continued the young soldier, “ if 
you are accepted—as you are sure to be—you and I 
will go out together in the same vessel.” 

“ I’m glad to hear that, anyhow,” returned Miles. 

“ And 1 am very glad too,” said little Emily, with 
a beaming smile, “for Willie has told me about you, 
Mr. Miles; and how you first met and took a fancy 
to each other; and it will be so nice to think that 
there’s somebody to care about my Willie when 
he’s far away from me.” 

The little woman blushed and half-laughed, and 
nearly cried as she said this, for she felt that it was 
rather a bold thing to say to a stranger, and yet she 
had such a strong desire to mitigate her husband’s 
desolation when absent from her that she forcibly 
overcame her modesty. “And I want you to do 
me a favour, Mr. Miles,” she added. 

“I’ll do it with pleasure,” returned our gallant 
hero. 

“I want you to call him Willie,” said the little 
woman, blushing and looking down. 

“ Certainly I will—if your husband permits me.” 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


81 


“You. see,” she continued, “I want him to keep 
familiar with the name I’ve been used to call him— 
for comrades will call him Armstrong, I suppose, 
and-” 

“ Oh! Emmy,” interrupted the soldier reproach¬ 
fully, “ do you think I require to be kept in remem¬ 
brance of that name ? Won’t your voice, repeating 
it, haunt me day and night till the happy day when 
I meet you again on the Portsmouth jetty, or may¬ 
hap in this very room ? ” 

Miles thought, when he heard this speech, of the 
hoped-for meeting between poor Mrs. Martin and 
her Fred; and a feeling of profound sadness crept 
over him as he reflected how many chances there 
were against their ever again meeting in this world. 
Naturally these thoughts turned his mind to his 
own case. His sinful haste in quitting home, and 
the agony of his mother on finding that he was 
really gone, were more than ever impressed on 
him, but again the fatal idea that what was done 
could not be undone, coupled with pride and false 
shame, kept him firm to his purpose. 

That evening, in barracks, Miles was told by his 
company sergeant to hold himself in readiness to 
appear before the doctor next morning for inspec¬ 
tion as to his physical fitness for active service in 
Egypt. 

Our hero was by this time beginning to find out 
F 




82 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


that the life of a private soldier, into which he had 
rushed, was a very different thing indeed from that 
of an officer—to which he had aspired. Here again 
pride came to his aid—in a certain sense,—for if it 
could not reconcile him to his position, it at all 
events closed his mouth, and made him resolve to 
bear the consequences of his act like a man. 

In the morning he had to turn out before day¬ 
light, and with a small band of men similarly 
situated, to muster in the drill-shed a little after 
eight. Thence they marched to the doctor’s 
quarters. 

It was an anxious ordeal for all of them; for, 
like most young soldiers, they were enthusiastically 
anxious to go on active service, and there was, of 
course, some uncertainty as to their passing the 
examination. 

The first man called came out of the inspection- 
room with a beaming countenance, saying that he 
was “all right,” which raised the hopes and spirits 
of the rest; but the second appeared after inspec¬ 
tion with a woe-begone countenance which required 
no interpretation. No reason was given for his 
rejection; he was simply told that it would be 
better for him not to go. 

Miles was the third called. 

As he presented himself, the doctor yawned 
vociferously, as if he felt that the hour for such 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


83 


work was unreasonably early. Then he looked at 
his subject with the critical air of a farmer 
inspecting a prize ox. 

“ How old are you ? ” he asked. 

“Nineteen, sir.” 

“ Are you married ? ” 

Miles smiled. 

“Did you hear me?” asked the doctor sharply. 
“You don’t need to smile. Many a boy as long- 
legged and as young as you is fool enough to 
marry. Are you married ? ” 

Miles flushed, looked suddenly stern, squared his 
shoulders, drew himself up with an air that implied 
“ You won’t catch me tripping again; ” and said 
firmly, yet quite respectfully— 

“ No, sir.” 

The doctor here took another good look at his sub¬ 
ject, with a meaning twinkle in his eye, as if he felt 
that he had touched a tender point. Then he felt his 
victim’s pulse, sounded his chest, and ordered him to 
strip. Being apparently satisfied with the result of 
his examination, he asked him if he “ felt all right.” 

Deflecting that his mother had often told him he 
was made up of body, soul, and spirit, and that in 
regard to the latter two he was rather hazy, Miles 
felt strongly inclined for a moment to say “ Certainly 
not,” but, thinking better of it, he answered, “ Yes, 
sir,” with decision. 


84 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Have you anything to complain of ? ” asked the 
doctor. 

The mind of our hero was what we may style 
rapidly reflective. In regard to the decrees of 
Fate, things in general, and his father’s conduct in 
particular, he had a decided wish to complain, but 
again he laid restraint on himself and said, “No, 
sir.” 

“ And do you wish to go to Egypt ? ” 

“Yes, sir!” was answered with prompt decision. 

“Then you may go,” said the doctor, turning 
away with an air of a man who dismisses a subject 
from his mind. 

When all the men had thus passed the medical 
examination, those of them who were accepted 
mustered their bags and kits before Captain Lacey, 
commander of the company to which they were 
attached, and those who wanted anything were 
allowed to draw it from the stores. 

Captain Lacey was a fine specimen of a British 
soldier—grave, but kind in expression and in heart; 
tall, handsome, powerful, about thirty years of age, 
with that urbanity of manner which wins affection 
at first sight, and that cool, quiet decision of 
character which inspires unlimited confidence. 

As the troop-ship which was to convey them to 
Egypt was to start sooner than had been intended, 
there was little time for thought during the few 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


85 


hours in England that remained to the regiment. 
The men had to draw their pith helmets, and 
fit the ornaments thereon ; then go the quarter¬ 
master’s stores to be fitted with white clothing, 
after which they had to parade before the Colonel, 
fully arrayed in the martial habiliments which were 
needful in tropical climes. Besides these matters 
there were friends to be seen, in some cases relatives 
to be parted from, and letters innumerable to be 
written. Miles Milton was among those who, on 
the last day in Portsmouth, attempted to write home. 
He had been taken by Sergeant Gilroy the previous 
night to one of the Institute entertainments in the 
great hall. The Sergeant had tried to induce him 
to go to the Bible-class with him, but Miles was in 
no mood for that at the time, and he was greatly 
relieved to find that neither the Sergeant nor any of 
the people of the Institute annoyed him by thrusting 
religious matters on his attention. Food, lodging, 
games, library, baths, Bible-classes, prayer-meetings, 
entertainments were all there to be used or let alone 
as he chose; perfect freedom of action being one of 
the methods by which it was sought to render the 
place attractive to the soldiers. 

But although Miles at once refused to go to the 
class, he had no objection to go to the entertainment. 

It was a curious mixture of song, recitation, 
addresses, and readings, in which many noble senti- 



86 


BLUE LIGHTS, Oft 


ments were uttered, and not a few humorous anec¬ 
dotes and incidents related. It was presided over 
by Tufnell, the manager, a soldierly-looking man, 
who had himself originally been in the army, and 
who had, for many years, been Miss Robinson’s 
right-hand man. There could not have been fewer 
than a thousand people in the hall, a large proportion 
of whom were red-coats and blue-jackets, the rest 
being civilians; and the way in which these ap¬ 
plauded the sentiments, laughed at the humour, 
and rejoiced in the music, showed that the provision 
for their amusement was thoroughly appreciated. 

Whether it was the feeling of good-fellowship 
and sympathy that pervaded the meeting, or some 
word that was dropped at a venture and found root 
in his heart, Miles could not tell, but certain it is 
that at that entertainment he formed the resolution 
to write home before leaving. Not that he had 
yet repented of the step he had taken, but he 
was sorry for the manner in which he had done so, 
and for allowing so much time to elapse that now 
the opportunity of seeing his parents before starting 
was lost. 

As it was impossible for him to write his letter in 
the noise of the barrack-room, he went off next day 
to the reading-room of the Institute, and there, with 
no other sounds to disturb him than the deep 
breathing of some studious red-coats, and the chirp- 


HOT WO 11K IN THE SOUDAN. 


87 


iiig pen of a comrade engaged like himself, he began 
to write. 

But his thoughts somehow would nor work. His 
pen would not write. He even fancied that it had a 
sort of objection to spell. So it had, when not 
properly guided by his hesitating hand. The first 
part went swimmingly enough:— 

“ Dearest mother, 

I’m so sorry-” 

But here he stopped, for the memory of his 
father’s severity re-aroused his indignation, and he 
felt some doubt as to whether he really was sorry. 
Then, under the impulse of this doubt, he wrote a 
long letter, in imagination, in which he defended his 
conduct pretty warmly, on the ground that he had 
been driven to it. 

“ Driven to what ? ” asked Something within him. 

“ To the course which I have taken and am now 
defending,” replied Something-else within him hotly. 

“ Then the course was a wrong one, else you 
wouldn’t have to defend it! ” rejoined the first 
Something. 

“Well — yes — n — no, it wasn’t,” returned the 
second Something doggedly. 

Before this internal dispute could be carried 
further, Miles was aroused by a sudden burst of 
noisy voices, as if a lunatic asylum had been let 
loose into the hall below. Rising quickly, he hurried 




88 BLUE LIGHTS, OR 

down with his studious comrades to see what it 
could be all about. 

“ It’s only another troop-ship come in, and 
they Ve all come up here without giving us warning 
to get ready,” said Tufnell, as he bustled about, 
endeavouring to introduce order into what appeared 
to Miles to be the reproduction of Babel, minus the 
bricks. 

The fact was that a troop-ship having arrived 
rather suddenly, a sergeant had driven up in hot 
haste from the docks to make arrangements for the 
reception of the soldiers’ wives and children! 

“ Look sharp! ” he cried, on entering the hall 
abruptly; “ sixteen families are on their way to you.” 

“All right; we can take ’em in,” was the 
prompt reply; and orders were given to set the 
food-producing machinery of the establishment in¬ 
stantly in motion. But almost before the prepara¬ 
tion had fairly begun, the advance-guard of the 
army, largely composed of infantry, burst upon 
them like a thunder-clap, and continued to pour in 
like a torrent. There were men shouting, women 
chattering, tired children whining, and excited 
children laughing; babies yelling or crowing 
miscellaneously; parrots screaming; people running 
up and down stairs in search of dormitories; plates 
and cups clattering at the bar, as the overwhelmed 
barmaids did their best to appease the impatient and 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


89 


supply the hungry; while the rumbling of control- 
wagons bringing up the baggage formed a sort of 
bass accompaniment to the concert. 

“ You see, it varies with us a good deal,” remarked 
Brown to Miles, during a lucid interval. “ Sometimes 
we are almost empty, a few hours later we are over¬ 
flowing. It comes hard on the housekeeper, of 
course. But we lay our account wi’ that, and, do 
you know, it is wonderful what can be done in trying 
circumstances, when we lay our account wi’ them! 
—Yes, Miss, it’s all ready 1” shouted the speaker, in 
reply to a soft female voice that came down the 
wide staircase, as it were, over the heads of the 
turbulent crow T d. 

In a moment he disappeared, and Tufnell stood 
as if by magic in his place. 

“ Yes,” said the manager, taking up his discourse 
where the other had left off; “and in a few minutes 
you ’ll see that most of these wives and children of 
the soldiers will be distributed through the house in 
their bedrooms, when our ladies will set to work to 
make acquaintance with them; and then we ’ll open 
our stores of warm clothing, of which the poor 
things, coming as they do from warm climates, are 
often nearly or quite destitute.” 

“ But where do you get these supplies from ? ” 
asked Miles. 

“ From kind-hearted Christians throughout the 





90 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


country, who send us gifts of old and new garments, 
boots and shoes, shawls and socks, etc., which we 
have always in readiness to meet sudden demands; 
and I may add that the demands are pretty constant. 
Brown told you just now that we have varied experi¬ 
ence. I remember once we got a message from the 
Assistant Quartermaster-General’s office to ask how 
many women and children we could accommodate, 
as a shipful was expected. We replied that we 
could take 140, and set to work with preparations. 
After all, only one woman came! To-day we 
expected nobody, and—you see what we have 
got!” 

The genial countenance of the manager beamed 
with satisfaction. It was evident that “ what he 
had got ” did not at all discompose him, as he hurried 
away to look after his flock, while the originator— 
the heart and soul of all this—although confined to 
her room at that time with spine complaint, and 
unable to take part in the active work, as she had 
been wont to do in years gone by, heard in her 
chamber the softened sound of the human storm, 
and was able to thank God that her Soldiers’ Insti¬ 
tute was fulfilling its destiny. 

“ Hallo! Miles! ” exclaimed Armstrong, over the 
heads of the crowd; “I’ve been looking for you 
everywhere. D’ you know we run a chance of being' 
late ? Come along, quick ! ” 


frOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


91 


Our hero, who, in his interest in the scene, had 
forgotten the flight of time, hurried out after his 
comrade as the band struck up “Home, sweet 
Home,” and returned to barracks, utterly oblivious 
of the fact that he had left the unfinished letter to 
his mother on the table in the reading-room. 


92 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTEE VI. 

THE UNFINISHED LETTER—TOO LATE ! 

Next morning young Milton—or, as he was called 
by his comrades, John Miles—rose with the de¬ 
pressing thought that it was to be his last day in 
England. As he was dressing, it flashed across him 
that he had left his unfinished letter on the reading- 
room table, and, concluding that it would be swept 
away in the rush of people there—at all events that, 
not having been folded or addressed, it could not be 
posted—his depression was deepened. 

The first thing that roused him to a better frame 
of mind was the smell of tea ! 

Most people are more or less familiar with tea¬ 
pots ; with the few teaspoonfuls of the precious leaf 
which thrifty housekeepers put into these pots, and 
the fragrant liquid that results. But who among 
civilians (save the informed) can imagine a barrack- 
room teapot ? 

Open your ears, 0 ye thrifty ones ! while we state 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


93 


a few facts, and there will be no need to tell you to 
open your eyes. 

Into the teapot which supplied Miles with his 
morning cup there was put, for one making, eight 
pounds of tea !—not ounces, observe, but pounds,— 
twenty-nine pounds of sugar, and six gallons—an 
absolute cowful—of milk! The pot itself consisted 
of eight enormous coppers, which were filled with 
boiling water to the brim. 

“ Yes, sir,” remarked the military cook, who con¬ 
cocted the beverage, to a speechless visitor one day; 
“ it is a pretty extensive brew; but then, you see, we 
have a large family! ” 

A considerable portion of this large family was 
soon actively engaged in preparation for immediate 
embarkation for Egypt. Then the General made 
the men a farewell speech. It was a peculiar 
speech—not altogether suited to cheer timid hearts, 
had any such been there, but admirably adapted to 
British soldiers. 

“Men,” said he, “I am very glad to see you 
parade looking so well and clean and comfortable 
and ready for active service. You will be dirty 
enough, sometimes, where you are going, for the 
country is hot and unhealthy, and not over clean. 
You will have hardships, hard times, and plenty of 
hard work, as well as hard beds now and then, and 
very likely the most of you will never come back 


94 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


again; but you would be unworthy the name of 
British soldiers if you allowed such thoughts to 
trouble your minds. I sincerely express the hope, 
however, that you will all come home again safe and 
sound. I have not the slightest doubt that every 
man of you will do his duty in the field faithfully 
and well; but I’m not so sure of your wisdom in 
camp and barracks, so I will give you a word of 
advice. There is far more danger in getting drunk 
in hot countries than in England. Let me advise 
you, then, not to get drunk; and I would warn you 
particularly against the vile stuff they will offer for 
sale in Egypt. It is rank poison. If you had 
stomachs lined with brass you might perhaps stand 
it—not otherwise. Then I would warn you against 
the sun. In Egypt the sun is sometimes like a fiery 
furnace. Never expose yourself when you can 
avoid doing so, and, above all, never go outside your 
tents without your helmets on. If you do, you ’ll 
repent it, and repentance will probably come too 
late. I wish you all a prosperous voyage, and may 
God keep you all! ” 

Delivered in a sharp, stern, unsentimental tone, 
this brief speech had probably a much more power¬ 
ful effect on the men than a more elaborate exhorta¬ 
tion would have had. The impression was deepened 
by the remarks of an old officer, who made a very 
brief, soldierly speech after the General, wind- 


HOT WOKE IN THE SOUDAN. 


95 


ing up with the information that he had himself 
been in Egypt, and assuring them that if they did 
not take care of themselves there was little chance 
of a man of them returning alive! 

“ May you have a pleasant passage out,” he said, 
in conclusion; “ and, in the name of the Portsmouth 
Division, I wish you victory in all your battles, and 
a hearty good-bye.” 

The men who were not going away were then 
called on to give their departing friends three 
cheers, whicli they did with right good-will. Captain 
Lacey, who was in charge of the detachment, stepped 
to the front, drew his sword, gave the order to 
shoulder arms, form fours, right, quick march, and 
away they went with the united bands of two 
regiments playing “The girl I left behind me!” 

The girls they were about to leave behind them 
were awaiting them at the barrack-gates, with a 
considerable sprinkling of somewhat older girls to 
keep them company. Many of the poor creatures 
were in tears for the men whom they might never 
see again, and lumps in several manly throats 
rather interfered with the parting cheer delivered 
by the detachment at the gate. Most of them 
accompanied the soldiers as far as the Dock¬ 
yard gates. Emily Armstrong was not among 
them. She had parted the previous night from her 
husband at his earnest request, and returned by rail 



96 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


to her father’s house, there to await, as patiently as 
she might, the return of her “ Willie.” 

“ Noble defenders of our country! ” observed an 
enthusiastic citizen, as they passed through the gates. 

“Food for powder,” remarked a sarcastic publican, 
as he turned away to resume his special work of 
robbing powder of its food and his country of its 
defenders ! 

Proceeding to the Embarkation Jetty, the detach¬ 
ment was marched on board the troop-ship, where 
the men were at once told off to their respective 
messes, and proceeded without delay to make 
themselves at home by taking possession of their 
allotted portion of the huge white-painted fabric 
that was to bear them over the waves to distant 
lands. 

Taking off their belts and stowing them overhead, 
they got hold of their bags, exchanged their smart 
uniforms for old suits of clothes, and otherwise 
prepared themselves for the endurance of life on 
board a transport. 

To his great satisfaction, Miles found that several 
of the comrades for whom he had by that time 
acquired a special liking were appointed to the 
same mess with himself. Among these were his 
friend Willie Armstrong, Sergeants Gilroy and 
Hardy, Corporal Elynn, a private named Gaspard 
Redgrave, who was a capital musician, and had a 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


97 


magnificent tenor voice, Robert Macleod, a big¬ 
boned Scotsman, and Moses Pyne, a long-legged, 
cadaverous nondescript, who was generally credited 
with being half-mad, though with a good deal of 
method in his madness, and who was possessed of 
gentleness of spirit, and a cheerful readiness to 
oblige, which seemed a flat contradiction of his 
personal appearance, and rendered him a general 
favourite. 

While these were busy arranging their quarters, 
a soldier passed with several books in his hand, 
which he had just received from one of the ladies 
from the Institute. 

“Hallo, Jack!” cried Moses Pyne; “have the 
ladies been aboard ? ” 

“ Of course they have. They’ve been all over 
the ship already distributin’ books an’ good-byes. 
I-f you want to see ’em you ’ll have to look sharp, 
Moses, for they ’re just goin’ on shore.” 

“ See ’em ! ” echoed Moses; “ of course I wants to 
see ’em. But for them, I’d be-” 

The rest of the sentence was lost in the clatter of 
Moses’ feet as he stumbled up the ladder-way. Re¬ 
membering his letter at that moment, Miles followed 
him, and reached the gangway just as the visitors 
were leaving. 

“ Excuse me,” he said to one of them, stopping her. 

“ Oh! I’m so glad to have found you,” she said. 

G 




98 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ I have been looking for you everywhere. Miss 
Eobinson sent you this little parcel of books, with 
her best wishes, and hopes that you will read 
them.” 

“ Thanks, very much. I will, with pleasure. 
And will you do me a favour ? I left a letter on 
the reading-room table-” 

A sudden and peremptory order of some sort 
caused a rush which separated Miles from the visitor 
and cut short the sentence, and the necessity for the 
immediate departure of all visitors rendered its being 
finished impossible. 

But Miss Bobinson’s representative did not require 
to be told that a forgotten letter could only want post¬ 
ing. On returning, therefore, to the Institute, she 
went at once to the reading-room, where she found 
no letter! Making inquiry, she learned from one 
of the maids that a sheet of paper had been found 
with nothing on it but the words, “ Dearest mother, 
I fin so sorry and that the same had been duly con¬ 
veyed to Miss Bobinson’s room. Hasting to the 
apartment of her friend, she knocked, and was 
bidden enter. 

“ You have got an unfinished letter, it seems ? ” 
she began.” 

“Yes; here it is,” interrupted Miss Bobinson, 
handing the sheet to her assistant. “ What a pity 
that it gives no clew to the writer—no address ! ” 



HOT VVODK IN THE SOUDAN. 


99 


“ I am pretty sure as to the writer,” returned the 
other. “ It must have been that fine-looking young 
soldier, John Miles, of whom we have seen a little 
and heard so much from Sergeant Gilroy ” 

Hereupon an account was given of the hurried 
and interrupted meeting on hoard the troop-ship; and 
the two ladies came to the conclusion that as nothing 
was known about the parents or former residence 
of John Miles no steps of any kind were possible. 
The letter was therefore carefully put by. 

That same evening there alighted at the railway 
station in Portsmouth an elderly lady with an 
expression of great anxiety on her countenance, and 
much perturbation in her manner. 

“ Any luggage, ma’am ? ” asked a sympathetic 
porter—for railway porters are sometimes more 
sympathetic than might be expected of men so 
much accustomed to witness abrupt and tender 
partings. 

“"No; no luggage. Yes—a small valise—in the 
carriage. That’s it.” 

“ Four-wheeler, ma’am ? ” 

“ Eh ! no—yes—yes.” 

“ Where to, ma’am ? ” asked the sympathetic 
porter, after the lady was seated in the cab, 

“ Where to ? ” echoed Mrs. Milton (for it was 
she), in great distress. “ Oh! where—where shall 
I drive to ? ” 


LOF C. 



100 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Keally, ma’am, I couldn’t say,” answered the 
porter, with a modest look 

“ I’ve—I—my son ! My dear boy ! Where shall 
I go to inquire ? Oh ! what shall I do ? ” 

These would have been perplexing utterances even 
to an unsympathetic man. 

Turning away from the window, and looking up 
at the driver, the porter said solemnly— 

“ To the best ’otel you know of, cabby, that’s not 
too dear. An’ if you’ve bin gifted with compassion, 
cabby, don’t overcharge your fare.” 

Accepting the direction, and exercising his 
discretion as well as his compassion, that intelligent 
cabby drove, strange to say, straight to an hotel 
styled the “ Officers’ House,” which is an offshoot of 
Miss Eobinson’s Institute, and stands close beside 
it! 

“A hofficer’s lady,” said the inventive cabby to 
the boy who opened the door. “ Wants to putt up 
in this ’ere ’ouse.” 

When poor Mrs. Milton had calmed her feelings 
sufficiently to admit of her talking with some degree 
of coherence, she rang the bell and sent for the 
landlord. 

Mr. Tufnell, who was landlord of the Officers’ 
House, as well as manager of the Institute, soon 
presented himself, and to him the poor lady confided 
her sorrows. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


101 


“You see, landlord,” she said, whimpering, “I 
don’t know a soul in Portsmouth; and—and—in fact 
I don’t even know how I came to your hotel, for I 
never heard of it before; hut I think I must have 
been sent here, for I see from your looks that you 
will help me.” 

“ You may depend on my helping you to the best 
of my power, madam. May I ask what you would 
have me do ? ” 

With much earnestness, and not a few tears, poor 
Mrs. Milton related as much of her son’s story as 
she thought necessary. 

“ Well, you could not have come to a better 
place,” said Tufnell, “ for Miss Robinson and all her 
helpers sympathise deeply with soldiers. If any one 
can find out about your son, they can. How were 
you led to suspect that he had come to Portsmouth ? ” 

“ A friend suggested that he might possibly have 
done so. Indeed, it seems natural, considering my 
dear boy’s desire to enter the army, and the number of 
soldiers, who are always passing through this town.” 

“ Well, I will go at once and make inquiry. The 
name Milton is not familiar to me, hut so many come 
and go that we sometimes forget names.” 

When poor Mrs. Milton was afterwards introduced 
to Miss Robinson, she found her both sympathetic 
and anxious to do her utmost to gain information 
about her missing son, but the mother’s graphic 



102 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


descriptions of liiin did not avail much. The fact 
that he was young, tall, handsome, curly-haired, etc., 
applied to so many of the defenders of the country 
as to he scarcely distinctive enough; but when she 
spoke of “ My dear Miles,” a new light was thrown 
on the matter. She was told that a young soldier 
answering to the description of her son had been 
there recently, but that his surname—not his 
Christian name—was Miles. Would she recognise 
his handwriting ? 

“ Eecognise it ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Milton, in a blaze 
of sudden hope. “ Ay, that I would; didn’t I teach 
him every letter myself ? Didn’t he insist on making 
his down-strokes crooked ? and wasn’t my heart 
almost broken over his square O’s ? ” 

While the poor mother was speaking, the un¬ 
finished letter was laid before her, and the hand¬ 
writing at once recognised. 

“ That’s his ! Bless him! And he’s sorry. 
Didn’t I say he would be sorry ? Didn’t I tell his 

father so ? Darling Miles, I-” 

Here the poor creature broke down, and wept at 
the thought of her repentant son. It was well, 
perhaps, that the blow was thus softened, for she 
almost fell on the floor when her new friend told 
her, in the gentlest possible manner, that Miles had 
that very day set sail for Egypt. 

They kept her at the Institute that night, however, 



HOT WOllK IN THE SOUDAN. 


103 


and consoled her much, as well as aroused her 
gratitude, by telling of the good men who formed 
part of her son’s regiment; and of the books and 
kind words that had been bestowed on him at 
parting; and by making the most they could of the 
good hope that the fighting in Egypt would soon be 
over, and that her son would ere long return to her, 
God willing, sound and well. 




104 


BLUE LIGHTS, Oil 


CHAPTER VII. 

MILES BEGINS TO DISCOVER HIMSELF—HAS A FEW ROUGH EXPERIENCES 
—AND FALLS INTO PEA-SOUP, SALT WATER, AND LOVE. 

While his mother was hunting for him in Ports¬ 
mouth, Miles Milton was cleaving his way through 
the watery highway of the world, at the rate of 
fifteen knots an hour. 

He was at the time in that lowest condition of 
misery, mental and physical, which is not unfre- 
quently the result of “ a chopping sea in the Chan¬ 
nel.” It seemed to him, just then, an unbelievable 
mystery how he could, at any time, have experienced 
pleasure at the contemplation of food! The heaving 
of the great white ship was nothing to the heaving 
—well, it may perhaps be wiser to refrain from 
particulars; but he felt that the beating of the two 
thousand horse-power engines—more or less—was 
child’s-play to the throbbing of his brain! 

“ And this,” he thought, in the bitterness of his 
soul, “ this is what I have sacrificed home, friends, 
position, prospects in life for! This is—soldiering!” 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


105 


Tlie merest shadow of the power to reason—if such 
a shadow had been left—might have convinced him 
that that was not soldiering; that, as far as it went, 
it was not even sailoring! 

“ You ’re very bad, I fear,” remarked a gentle voice 
at the side of his hammock. 

Miles looked round. It was good-natured, lanky, 
cadaverous Moses Pyne. 

“ Who told you I was bad ? asked Miles savagely, 
putting a wrong—but too true—interpretation on 
the word. 

“ The colour of your cheeks tells me, poor fellow! ” 

“ Bah! ” exclaimed Miles. He was too sick to 
say more. He might have said less with advan¬ 
tage. 

“ Shall I fetch you some soup ? ” asked Moses, in 
the kindness of his heart. Moses, you see, was one 
of those lucky individuals who are born with an in¬ 
capacity to be sick at sea, and was utterly ignorant 
of the cruelty he perpetrated. “Or some lob- 
scouse ? ” he added. 

“ Go away! ” gasped Miles. 

“ A basin of-” 

Miles exploded, literally as well as metaphori¬ 
cally, and Moses retired. 

“Strange,” thought that healthy soldier, as he 
stalked away on further errands of mercy, stooping 
as he went to avoid beams—“strange that Miles is 



106 


BLUE LIGHTS, Oil 


so changeable in character. I had come to think 
him a steady, reliable sort of chap.” 

Puzzling over this difficulty, he advanced to the 
side of another hammock, from which heavy groans 
were issuing. 

“Are you very bad, corporal?” he asked in his 
usual tone of sympathy. 

“ Bad is it ? ” said Flynn. “ Och ! it’s worse nor 
bad I am! Couldn't ye ax the captin to heave-to 
for a-” 

The suggestive influence of heaving-to was too 
much for Flynn. He pulled up dead. After a few 
moments he groaned— 

“ Arrah! be off, Moses, av ye don’t want my fist 
on yer nose.” 

“Extraordinary!” murmured the kindly man, as 
he removed to another hammock, the occupant of 
which was differently constituted. 

“ Moses,” he said, as the visitant approached. 

“ Yes, Gaspard,” was the eager reply, “ can I do 
anything for you ? ” 

“ Yes; if you’d go on deck, refresh yourself with a 
walk,and leave us all alone, you’ll con—fer—on-” 

Gaspard ceased to speak; he had already spoken 
too much; and Moses Pyne, still wondering, quietly 
took his advice. 

But if the Channel was bad, the Bay of Biscay 
was, according to Flynn, “ far badder.” 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


107 


Before reaching that celebrated bay, however, most 
of the men had recovered, and, with more or less 
lugubrious aspects and yellow-green complexions, 
were staggering about, attending to their various 
duties. No doubt their movements about the 
vessel were for some time characterised by that dis¬ 
agreement between action and will which is some¬ 
times observed in feeble chickens during a high wind, 
but, on the whole, activity and cheerfulness soon 
began to re-animate the frames and spirits of Britain’s 
warriors. 

And now Miles Milton began to find out, as well 
as to fix, in some degree, his natural character. Up 
to this period in his life, a mild existence in a 
quiet home, under a fairly good though irascible 
father and a loving Christian mother, had not 
afforded him much opportunity of discovering what 
he was made of. Becent events had taught him 
pretty sharply that there was much room for im¬ 
provement. He also discovered that he possessed a 
very determined will in the carrying out of his 
intentions, especially when those intentions were 
based upon his desires. Whether he would be 
equally resolute in carrying out intentions that did 
not harmonise with his desires remained to be seen. 

His mother, among her other teachings, had often 
tried to impress on his young mind the difference 
between obstinacy and firmness. 




108 


BLUE LIGHTS, Oil 


“ My boy,” she was wont to say, while smoothing 
his curly head, “don’t mistake obstinacy for firmness. 
A man who says ‘ I will do this or that in spite of all 
the world,’ against advice, and simply because he 
wants to do it, is obstinate. A man who says, ‘ I will 
do this or that in spite of all the world,’ against 
advice, against his own desires, and simply because 
it is the right thing to do, is firm.” 

Eemembering this, and repenting bitterly his 
having so cruelly forsaken his mother, our hero cast 
about in his mind how best he could put some of 
her precepts into practice, as being the only con¬ 
solation that was now possible to him. You see, the 
good seed sown in those early days was beginning to 
spring up in unlikely circumstances. Of course the 
habit of prayer, and reading a few verses from the 
Bible night and morning, recurred to him. This had 
been given up since he left home. He now resumed 
it, though, for convenience, he prayed while stretched 
in his hammock! 

But this did not satisfy him. He must needs 
undertake some disagreeable work, and carry it out 
with that degree of obstinacy which would amount 
to firmness. After mature consideration, he sought 
and obtained permission to become one of the two 
cooks to his mess. Moses Pyne was the other. 

Nothing, he felt, could be more alien to his nature, 
more disgusting in every way to his feelings—-and 


HOT WORK IN TIIE SOUDAN. 


109 


he was right. His dislike to the duties seemed 
rather to increase than to diminish day by day. 
Bitterly did he repent of having undertaken the 
duty, and earnestly did he consider whether there 
might not be some possible and honourable way of 
drawing back, but he discovered none; and soon 
he proved—to himself as well as to others—that he 
did indeed possess, at least in some degree, firmness 
of character. 

The duties that devolved on him were trying. 
He had to scrub and keep the mess clean and tidy; 
to draw all the provisions and prepare them for 
cooking; then, to take them to the galley, and fetch 
them when cooked. That this last was no simple 
matter, such as any shore-going tail-coated waiter 
might undertake, was brought forcibly out one day 
during what seamen style dirty weather. 

It was raining at the time. The sea was grey, the 
sky was greyer, and as the steamer itself was whity- 
grey, it was a grave business altogether. 

“Is the soup ready, Moses?” asked Miles, as he 
ascended towards the deck and met his confrere, 
coming down. 

“ I don’t know. Shall I go an’ see ?” 

“ Ho; you can go and look after the table. 1 will 
fetch the soup.” 

“ A nasty sea on,” remarked a voice, which sounded 
familiar in Miles’s ears as he stepped on deck. 


110 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Hallo! Jack Molloy!” he exclaimed, catching 
hold of a stanchion to steady himself, as a tre¬ 
mendous roll of the vessel caused a sea to flash over 
the side and send a shower-bath in his face. “ What 
part of the sky did you drop from ? I thought I 
had left you snug in the Sailors’ Welcome 

“ Werry likely you did, John Miles,” answered 
the tar, balancing himself with perfect ease, and 
caring no more for spray than if he had been a 
dolphin ; “ but I’m here for all that—one o’ the 
crew o’ this here transport, though I means to 
wolunteer for active sarvice when I gets out. An’ 
no wonder we didn’t come across each other sooner! 
In sitch a enormous tubful o’ lobsters, etceterer, it’s 
a wonder we’ve met at all. An’ p’r’aps you’ve bin 
a good deal under hatches since you come a-boord ?” 

Molloy said this with a knowing look and a grin. 
Miles met the remark in a similar spirit. 

“Yes, Jack, I’ve been paying tribute to Neptune 
lately.” 

“You looks like it, Miles, judgin’ by the colour o’ 
your jib. Where away now ?” 

“ Going for our soup.” 

“ What! made you cook o’ the mess ?” 

“ Ay ; don’t you wish you were me?” 

Another roll and flash of spray ended the con¬ 
versation and separated the friends. 

The pea-soup was ready when our hero reached 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN* 


111 


the galley. Having filled the mess-tureen with the 
appetising mixture, he commenced the return journey 
with great care, for he was now dependent entirely 
on his legs, both hands being engaged. Miles was 
handy, if we may say so, with his legs. Once or 
twice he had to rush and thrust a shoulder against 
the bulwarks, and a dash of spray served for salt to 
the soup; but he was progressing favourably and 
had traversed full three-quarters of the distance to 
the hatch when a loud “ Hooroo!” caused him to 
look round smartly. 

He had just time to see Corporal Flynn, who had 
slipped and fallen, come rolling towards him like a 
sack of flour. Next moment he was swept off his 
legs, and went into the lee scuppers with his com¬ 
rade in a bath of pea-soup and salt water! 

Fortunately, the obliging wave which came in¬ 
board at the same moment mingled with the soup, 
and saved both men from a scalding. 

Such mishaps, however, were rare, and they served 
rather to enliven the voyage than otherwise. 

Besides the duties already mentioned, our hero 
had to wash up all the dishes and other things at 
meal-hours; to polish up the mess-kettles and tin 
dishes; and, generally, to put things away in their 
places, and keep things in apple-pie order. Becollect- 
ing another of his mothers teachings—“Whatever 
is worth doing at all is worth doing well ”—he tried 


112 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


his best, and was so ably seconded by the amiable 
Moses, that the Miles-Moses mess came to be at 
last regarded as the best-kept one on board. 

One morning, after clearing up the dishes and 
putting things in order, Miles went on deck for a 
little fresh air. On the way up he met an elderly 
gentleman whose dress proclaimed him a clergy¬ 
man. 

He looked earnestly at our hero, and, nodding 
kindly, spoke a few words to him in passing. Miles 
had been aware that there was a clergyman on board 
going out to Egypt with his family—whether in 
connection with the troops or for health he did not 
know. He was much impressed with the looks and 
expression of this man. It seemed to him as if there 
were some sort of attractive power about him which 
was unaccountably strong, and he felt quite inter¬ 
ested in the prospect of hearing him preach on the 
following Sunday. 

While on deck the previous day, he had seen the 
figures of two ladies, whom he rightly judged 
to be the family above referred to, but as there 
was nearly the whole distance of the ship’s length 
between them, he could not distinguish their faces. 

On taking his place when Sunday came, he ob¬ 
served that the family were present, seated, how¬ 
ever, in such a position that he could only see their 
backs. Speculating in a listless way as to what sort 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


113 


of faces they had, he whiled away the few minutes 
before the service began. 

He was recalled from this condition by the tones 
of the clergyman’s voice, which seemed to have the 
same effect on him as his look and manner had the 
day they first met. During the sermon Miles’s 
attention was riveted, insomuch that he almost 
forgot where he was. The text was a familiar one— 
“God is Love,”—but the treatment of it seemed en¬ 
tirely new: the boundless nature of that love; its 
incomprehensible and almighty force; its endur¬ 
ing certainty and its overwhelming immensity, 
embracing, as it did, the whole universe in Christ, 
were themes on which the preacher expatiated in a 
way that Miles had never before dreamed of. 

“ All subordinate love,” said the preacher, in con¬ 
cluding, “ has its source in this. Ho wonder, then, 
that it is spoken of in Scripture as a love ‘ which 
passeth knowledge.’ ” 

When the men rose to leave, it could be easily 
seen that they were deeply impressed. As they 
went out slowly, Miles passed close to the place 
where the ladies sat. The slighter of the two was 
talking in a low tone to her companion, and the young 
soldier was struck with the wonderful resemblance 
in her tone to that of the preacher. He wondered 
if her face also resembled his in any degree, and 
glanced back, but the head was turned away. 

H 




114 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ I like that parson. He has got brains” remarked 
Sergeant Hardy, as he walked along the deck with 
Sergeant Gilroy and Corporal Flynn. 

“ Sure an’ I like him too,” said the corporal, “ for 
he ’s got heart! ” 

“Heart and brains,” returned Gilroy: “a grand 
combination ! What more could we want ? ” 

“ Don’t you think that tongue is also essential ? ” 
asked Miles. “But for the preacher’s eloquence 
his heart and brain would have worked in 
vain.” 

“ Come now, John Miles, don’t you be risin’ up 
into poethry. It’s not yer natur—though ye think 
it is. Besides, av a man’s heart an’ brains is all 
right, he can make good use of ’em widout much 
tongue. Me own notion is that it’s thim as hasn’t 
got much to spake of, aither of heart or brain, as is 
over-fond o’ waggin’ the tongue.” 

“That’s so, Flynn. You’re a living example of 
the truth of your own opinion,” retorted Miles. 

“ Och ! is it angered ye are at gittin’ the worst o’ 
the argiment?” rejoined the corporal. “Niver 
mind, boy, you ’ll do better by and by-” 

As Flynn descended the ladder while he spoke, 
the sense of what he said was lost, but the truth of 
his opinion still continued to receive illustration 
from the rumbling of his voice, until it was swallowed 
up in the depths of the vessel. 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


115 


Next day our hero received a shock from which 
he never finally recovered ! 

Be not alarmed, reader; it was not paralytic in 
its nature. It happened on this wise:— 

Miles had occasion to go to the fore part of the 
ship on some culinary business, without his coat, 
and with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows. 
Arrived there, he found that the captain was taking 
the ladies round the ship to point out some of its 
interesting details. As Miles came up, the younger 
lady turned round so as to present her full face to 
him. It was then that poor Miles received the 
shock above referred to. At that moment a 
little boy with wings and a bow stepped right in 
front of the young lady and shot straight at Miles 
Milton ! The arrow entered his heart, and he—no, 
he did not fall; true men in such circumstances 
never fall! They stand transfixed, sometimes, or 
stupefied. Thus stood Miles and stared. Yes, though 
naturally modest and polite, he stood and stared ! 

And small blame to him, as Flynn might have 
said, for before him stood his ideal of a fairy, an 
angel, a sylph—or anything beautiful that best suits 
your fancy, reader! Sunny hair, sunny eyes— 
earnest and inquiring eyes—sunny smiles, and eye¬ 
brows to match. Yes, she had eyebrows distinctly 
darker than her hair, and well-defined over a pair 
of large brown eyes. 



116 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


Poor Miles was stricken, as we have said; but— 
would you believe it?—there were men there looking 
at that girl at that time who, to use their own 
phraseology, would not have accepted a dozen of 
her for the girls they had left behind them ! One 
young fellow in particular murmured to himself 
as follows— 

“ Yes, very well in her way, no doubt, but she 
couldn’t hold a candle to my Emmy! ” 

Perhaps the most cutting remark of all—made 
mentally, of course—was that of Sergeant Grady, 
who, for reasons best known to himself, had left a 
wife, describable as a stout well-favoured girl of 
forty, behind him. 

“ In twenty years or so,” he thought, “ she may 
perhaps be near as good-lookin’ as my Susy, but 
she ’ll never come quite up to her—never ! ” 

K Come this way, Mrs. Drew,” said the captain. 
“ I will show you the men’s quarters. Out of the 
way, my man! ” 

Flushing to the roots of his hair, Miles stepped 
hastily aside. 

As he did so there was heard an awful rend of a 
sort that tests the temper of women ! It was 
followed by a musical scream. The girl’s dress had 
caught on a block tackle. 

Miles leaped forward and unhooked it. He was 
rewarded with a smiling “ Thank you,” which was 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


117 


followed by a blush of confusion as Miss Drew’s 
mother exclaimed, “ Oh ! Marion — how could 
you ? ” by way of making things easier for her, no 
doubt! 

“ You did that, young man, about as smart as I 
could a’ done it myself,” growled a voice behind 
him. 

The speaker was Jack Molloy, and a general titter 
followed Miles as he hurried away. 

As we have said, the weather became much 
worse when the troop-ship drew near to the Bay of 
Biscay; and it soon became evident that they were 
not to cross that famous portion of the Atlantic 
without experiencing some of the violent action for 
which it is famed. But by that time most of the 
soldiers, according to Molloy, had got their sea- 
legs on, and rather enjoyed the tossing than other¬ 
wise. 

“ I do like this sort o’ thing,” said a beardless 
young fellow, as a number of the men sat on camp- 
stools, or stood on the weather-side of the deck, 
chatting together about past times and future pro¬ 
spects. 

“ Ha! ” exclaimed a seaman, who stood near them 
coiling up a rope; “ hold on till you ’ve got a taste o’ 
the Bay. This is a mill-pond to that. And you ’ll 
have the chance to-night. If you don’t, I’m a 
Dutchman.” 



118 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ If I do, you ’ll have a taste of it too, old 
salt-water, for we ’re in the same boat,” retorted the 
young red-coat. 

“ True, but we ain’t in the same body,” returned 
the sailor. “ I should just like to see your four-futt 
legs wobblin’ about in a nor’-west gale. You’d sing 
another song.” 

“Come, Macleod,” cried Moses Pyne, “tip us a 
Gaelic song.” 

“ Hoots, man, wull ye be wantin’ to be made 
sea-seek?—for that’s what’ll do it,” said the big 
Scotsman. “ Ha, na, let Gaspard sing us * The Bay 
o’ Biscay 0! ’ That ’ll be mair appropriate.” 

There was a general chorus of assent to this; and 
as Gaspard Redgrave was an obliging man, un¬ 
troubled by false modesty, he cleared his throat and 
began. His voice, being a really splendid one, 
attracted all the men who chanced to be within 
range of it: among others Miles, who was passing 
at the moment with a bag of biscuits in one hand 
and a meat-can in the other. He leaned up against 
one of those funnels which send fresh air down to the 
stokers of steam-ships. He had listened only a few 
moments when Marion Drew glided amongst the 
men, and seemed to stand as if entranced with 
delight in front of him, steadying herself by a rope, 
for the vessel was pitching a good deal as well as 
rolling considerably. 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


119 


At the first chorus the crowd burst forth with 
wild enthusiasm— 

“ As we lay, on that day, 

In the Bay of Biscay 0 ! ” 

dwelling with unnecessary length and emphasis on 
the “0!” 

At the close of the second verse the men were 
preparing to burst forth again when Miles observed 
an approaching billow which caused him to start in 
alarm. Although unused to the aspect of waves, he 
had an instinctive feeling that there was danger 
approaching. Voices of warning were promptly 
raised from different parts of the vessel, hut already 
the loud chorus had begun and drowned every other 
sound. Miles dropped his biscuits and sprang 
towards Marion, who, with flashing eyes and parted 
lips, was gazing at Gaspard. He just reached her 
when the wave burst over the side, and, catching 
most of the men quite unprepared, swept them 
with terrible violence towards the lee-side of the 
deck. 

Marion was standing directly in the line of this 
human cataract, but Miles swung her deftly round 
into the lee of the funnel, a handle of which she 
happily caught, and clung to it like a limpet. 

Her preserver was not so fortunate. The edge of 
the cataract struck him, swept him off his legs, and 
hurled him with many comrades against the lee 



120 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


bulwarks, where he lay stunned and helpless in the 
swishing water. 

Of course soldiers and sailors ran from all parts 
of the vessel to the rescue, and soon the injured men 
were carried below and attended to by the doctors; 
and, considering the nature of the accident, it was 
matter for surprise that the result was no worse 
than some pretty severe contusions and a few broken 
ribs. 

When Miles recovered consciousness, he found 
himself in his hammock, with considerable pain in 
various parts of his body, and the Rev. James Drew 
bending over him. 

“You’re all right now, my fine fellow,” he said, 
in a low comforting voice. “ No bones broken, so 
the doctors say. Only a little bruised.” 

“ Tell me, sir,” said Miles, rousing himself, “ is— 
is your daughter safe ? ” 

“Yes, thanks be to God, and to your prompt 
assistance, she is none the worse—save the fright 
and a wetting.” 

Miles sank back on his pillows with a feeling of 
profound satisfaction. 

“Now, you must try to sleep if you can,” said the 
clergyman; “ it will do you good.” 

But Miles did not want anything to do him good. 
He was quite content to lie still and enjoy the 
simple fact that he had rescued Marion, perhaps 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


121 


from death—at all events from serious injury! As 
for pain—what was that to him? was he not a 
soldier—one whose profession requires him to suffer 
anything cheerfully in the discharge of duty ! And 
was not love the highest duty ? 

On the strength of some such thoughts he forgot 
his pain and calmly went to sleep. 




122 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTEK VIII. 

HAS REFERENCE TO MANY THINGS CONNECTED WITH MIND, 
MATTER, AND AFFECTIONS. 

The wave which had burst with such disastrous 
effect on the deck of the troop-ship was but the 
herald of one of those short, wild storms which 
occasionally sweep with desolating violence over 
the Atlantic Ocean, and too frequently strew with 
wreck the western shores of Europe. 

In the Bay of Biscay, as usual, the power of the 
gale was felt more severely than elsewhere. 

“ There’s some sort o’ mystery about the matter,” 
said Jack Molloy to William Armstrong, as they 
cowered together under the shelter of the bridge. 
“Why the Atlantic should tumble into this ’ere 
bay with greater wiolence than elsewhere is beyond 
my comprehension. But any man wi’ half an eye 
can see that it do do it! Jist look at that! ” 

There was something indeed to look at, for, 
even while he spoke, a mighty wave tumbled on 
board of the vessel, rushed over the fore deck like 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


123 


Niagara rapids in miniature, and slushed wildly 
about for a considerable time before it found its 
way through the scuppers into the grey wilderness 
of heaving billows from which it sprang. 

The great ship quivered, and seemed for a moment 
to stagger under the blow, while the wind shrieked 
through the rigging as if laughing at the success 
of its efforts, but the whitey-grey hull rose heavily, 
yet steadily, out of the churning foam, rode trium¬ 
phant over the broad-backed billow that had struck 
her, and dived ponderously into the valley of waters 
beyond. 

“ Don’t you think,” said the young soldier, whose 
general knowledge was a little more extensive than 
that of the seaman, “that the Gulf Stream may have 
something to do with it ? ” 

Molloy looked at the deck with philosophically 
solemn countenance. Deriving no apparent inspira¬ 
tion from that quarter, he gazed on the tumultuous 
chaos of salt water with a perplexed expression. 
Finally and gravely he shook his weatherbeaten 
head— 

“ Can’t see that nohow,” he said. “ In course I 
knows that the Gulf Stream comes out the Gulf o’ 
Mexico, cuts across the Atlantic in a nor’-easterly 
direction, goes slap agin the west of England, 
Ireland, and Scotland, and then scurries away up 
the coast o’ Norway—though why it should do so is 



124 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


best known to itself; p’r’aps it’s arter the fashion of 
an angry woman, accordin’ to its own sweet will; 
but what has that got for to do wi’ the Bay of 
Biscay 0 ? That’s wot I wants to know.” 

“More to do with it than you think, Jack,” 
answered the soldier. “ In the first place, you’re not 
quite, though partly, correct about the Gulf 
Stream-” 

“Well, I ain’t zactly a scienkrific stoodent, you 
know. Don’t purfess to be.” 

“Just so, Jack. Neither am I, but I have 
inquired into this matter in a general way, an’ 
here’s my notions about it.” 

“Draw it fine, Willum; don’t be flowery,” said 
the sailor, renewing his quid. “ Moreover, if you ’ll 
take the advice of an old salt you ’ll keep a tighter 
grip o’ that belayin’-pin you’ve got hold of, unless 
you wants to be washed overboard. Now then, 
fire away ! I’m all attention, as the cat said at the 
mouth o’ the mouse-hole.” 

“ Well, then,” began Armstrong, with the slightly 
conscious air of superior knowledge, “the Gulf 
Stream does not rise in the Gulf of Mexico-” 

“ Did I say that it did, Willum ? ” 

“ Well, you said that it came out of the Gulf of 
Mexico—and, no doubt, so far you are right, but 
what I mean is that it does not originate there.” 

“ W’y don’t you say what you mean, then, Willum, 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


125 


instead o’ pitchin’ into a poor chap as makes do 
pretence to be a purfessor ? Heave ahead!” 

“ Well, Jack,” continued the soldier, with more 
care as to his statements, “I believe, on the best 
authority, that the Gulf Stream is only part of a 
great ocean current which originates at the equator, 
and a small bit of which flows north into the Atlan¬ 
tic, where it drives into the Gulf of Mexico. Find¬ 
ing no outlet there it rushes violently round the 
gulf-” 

“ Gits angry, no doubt, an’ that’s what makes it 
hot ? ” suggested the sailor. 

“ Perhaps ! Anyhow, it then flows, as you say, 
in a nor’-easterly direction to the coasts of Great 
Britain and Ireland. But it does more than that. 
It spreads as it goes, and also rushes straight at 
the coasts of France and Spain. Here, however, it 
meets a strong counter current running south along 
these same coasts of France an’* Spain. That is 
difficulty number one. It has to do battle wi’ that 
current, and you know, Jack, wherever there’s 
a battle there’s apt to be convulsions of some 
sort. Well, then, a nor’-westerly gale comes on 
and rolls the whole o’ the North Atlantic Ocean 
against these coasts. So here you have this 
part of the Gulf Stream caught in another direc¬ 
tion—on the port quarter, as you sailors might 
call it-” 





126 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Never mind wot us sailors might call it, Willum. 
Wotever you say on that pint you’re sure to be 
wrong. Heave ahead ! ” 

“Well, then,” continued Armstrong, with a laugh, 
“that’s trouble number two; and these troubles, you’ll 
observe, apply to the whole west coast of both coun¬ 
tries; but in the Bay of Biscay there is still another 
difficulty, for when these rushing and tormented 
waters try to escape, they are met fair in the face 
by the whole north coast of Spain, and thus-” 

“ I sees it!” exclaimed Molloy, with a sudden 
beam of intelligence, “ you’ve hit the nail on the 
head, Willum. Gulf Stream flies at France in a hot 
rage, finds a cool current, or customer, flowin’ down 
south that shouts ‘ Belay there! ’ At it they go, tooth 
an’ nail, when down comes a nor’-wester like a wolf 
on the fold, takes the Stream on the port quarter, 
as you say, an’ drives both it an’ the cool customer 
into the bay, where the north o’ Spain, cries ‘ Avast 
heavin,’ both o’ you!’ an’ drives ’em back to where 
the nor’-wester’s drivin’ ’em on! No wonder there’s 
a mortal hullaballoo in the Bay o’ Biscay! Why, 
mate, where got ye all that lamin’ ?” 

Before his friend could reply, a terrific plunge 
of the vessel, a vicious shriek of the wind, and 
the entrance of another tremendous sea, suggested 
that the elements were roused to unusual fury at 
having the secrets of their operations thus ruth- 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


127 


lessly revealed, and also suggested the propriety of 
the two friends seeking better shelter down below. 

While this storm was raging, Miles lay in his 
hammock, subjected to storms of the bosom with 
occasional calms between. He was enjoying one of 
the calms when Armstrong passed his hammock and 
asked how he was getting on. 

“Very well, Willie. Soon he all right, I think,” 
he replied, with a contented smile. 

Tor at that moment he had been dwelling on the 
agreeable fact that he had really rescued Marion 
Drew from probable death, and that her parents 
gratefully recognised the service—as he learned from 
the clergyman himself, who expressed his gratitude 
in the form of frequent visits to and pleasant chats 
with the invalid. 

The interest and sympathy which Miles had felt 
on first seeing this man naturally increased, and at 
last he ventured to confide to him the story of his 
departure from home, but said nothing about the 
changed name. It is needless to relate all that 
was said on the occasion. One can easily imagine 
the bearing of a good deal of it. The result on Miles 
was not very obvious at the time, but it bore fruit 
after many days. 

The calm in our hero’s breast was not, however, 
of long duration. The thought that, as a private in 
a marching regiment, he had not the means to main- 






128 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


tain Marion in the social position to which she had 
been accustomed, was a very bitter thought, and 
ruffled the sea of his feelings with a stiff breeze. 
This freshened to something like a gale of rebellion 
when he reflected that his case was all but hopeless; 
for, whatever might have been the truth of the 
statement regarding the French army under 
Napoleon, that “every soldier carried a marshal’s 
baton in his knapsack,” it did not follow that 
soldiers in the British army of the present day 
carried commissions in their knapsacks. Indeed, he 
knew it was by no means a common thing for men 
to rise from the ranks, and he was well aware that 
those who did so were elevated in virtue of qualities 
which he did not possess. 

He was in the midst of one of his bosom storms 
when Sergeant Hardy came to inquire how he did. 

Somehow the quiet, grave, manly nature of that 
sergeant had a powerful effect, not only on Miles 
but on every one with whom he came in contact. 
It was not so much his words as his manner that 
commended him. He was curiously contradictory, 
so to speak, in character and appearance. The stern 
gravity of his countenance suggested a hard nature, 
but lines of good-humour lurking about the eyes 
and mouth put to flight the suggestion, and acts of 
womanly tenderness on many occasions turned the 
scale the other way. A strong, tall, stiffly upright and 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


129 


slow-moving frame, led one to look only for elephan¬ 
tine force, but when circumstances required prompt 
action our sergeant displayed powers of cat-like 
activity, which were all the more tremendous that 
they seemed incongruous and were unexpected. 
From his lips you looked for a voice of thunder— 
and at drill you were not disappointed—but on 
ordinary occasions his speech was soft and low; 
bass indeed as to its quality, but never harsh or 
loud. 

“A gale is brewing up from the nor’-west, so 
Jack Molloy says,” remarked Hardy, as he was 
about to pass on. 

“ Why, I thought it was blowing a gale now ! ” 
returned Miles. “ At least it seems so, if we may 
judge from the pitching and plunging.” 

“ Ah, lad, you are judging from the landlubber’s 
view-point,” returned the sergeant. “ Wait a bit, 
and you will understand better what Molloy means 
when he calls this only a ‘ capful of wind.’ ” 

Miles had not to wait long. The gale when fully 
“ brewed up ” proved to be no mean descendant 
of the family of storms which have tormented the 
celebrated bay since the present economy of nature 
began; and many of those who were on board 
of the troop-ship at that time had their eyes opened 
and their minds enlarged as to the nature of a 
thorough gale; when hatches have to be battened 
i 





130 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


down, and the dead-lights closed ; when steersmen 
have to he fastened in their places, and the mad¬ 
dened sea seems to roar defiance to the howling blast, 
and all things movable on deck are swept away as 
if they were straws, and many things not meant 
to be movable are wrenched from their fastenings 
with a violence that nothing formed by man can 
resist, and timbers creak and groan, and loose fur¬ 
niture gyrates about until smashed to pieces, and 
well-guarded glass and crockery leap out of bounds 
to irrecoverable ruin, and even the seamen plunge 
about and stagger, and landsmen hold on to ring¬ 
bolts and belaying-pins, or cling to bulkheads for 
dear life, while mighty billows, thundering in-board, 
hiss along the decks, and everything, above, below, 
and around, seems being swept into eternity by the 
besom of destruction! 

But the troop-ship weathered the storm nobly; 
and the good Lord sent fine weather and moderate 
winds thereafter; and ere long the soldiers were 
enjoying the sunshine, the sparkling waters, and 
the sight of the lovely shores of the blue Mediter¬ 
ranean. 

Soon after that broken bones began to mend, and 
bruises to disappear; and our hero, thoroughly 
recovered from his accident, as well as greatly im¬ 
proved in general health, returned to his duties. 

But Miles was not a happy man, for day by day 


HOT WOEK IN THE SOUDAN. 


131 


lie felt more and more severely that he had put 
himself in a false position. Besides the ever- 
increasing regret for having hastily forsaken home, 
he had now the bitter reflection that he had volun¬ 
tarily thrown away the right to address Marion 
Drew as an equal. 

During the whole voyage he had scarcely an 
opportunity of speaking a word to her. Of 
course the warm-hearted girl did not forget the 
important service that had been rendered to her by 
the young soldier, and she took more than one 
occasion to visit the fore part of the vessel for the 
purpose of expressing her gratitude and asking 
about his health, after he was able to come on 
deck; but as her father accompanied her on these 
occasions, the conversation was conducted chiefly 
between him and the reverend gentleman. Still, it 
was some comfort to hear her voice and see her 
eyes beaming kindly on him. 

Once the youth inadvertently expressed his feel¬ 
ings in his look, so that Marion’s eye-lids dropped, 
and a blush suffused her face, to hide which she 
instantly became unreasonably interested in the 
steam-winch beside which they were standing, and 
wanted to understand principles of engineering which 
had never troubled her before! 

“ What is the use of that curious machine ? ” she 
asked, turning towards it quickly. 



132 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ W’y, Miss,” answered Jack Molloy, who chanced 
to be sitting on a spare yard close at hand working a 
Turk’s head on a manrope, “that’s the steam-winch, 
that is—the thing wot we uses w’en we wants to 
hoist things out o’ the hold, or lower ’em into it.” 

“ Come, Marion, we must not keep our friend 
from his duties,” said Mr. Drew, nodding pleasantly 
to Miles as he turned away. 

The remark was called forth by the fact that 
Miles had been arrested while on his way to the 
galley with a dish of salt pork, and with his shirt¬ 
sleeves, as usual, tucked up! 

Only once during the voyage did our hero get the 
chance of talking with Marion alone. The oppor¬ 
tunity, like most pieces of good fortune, came unex¬ 
pectedly. It was on a magnificent night, just after 
the troop-ship had left Malta. The sea was perfectly 
calm, yet affected by that oily motion which has the 
effect of breaking a reflected moon into a million 
fragments. All nature appeared to be hushed, 
and the stars were resplendent. It was enough, as 
Jack Molloy said, to make even a bad man feel 
good! 

“Do ’ee speak from personal experience, Jack?” 
asked a comrade on that occasion. 

“ I might, Jim, if you wasn’t here,” retorted 
Molloy; “but it’s not easy to feel bad alongside o’ 
you” 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


133 


“That’s like a double-edged sword, Jack—cuts 
two ways. W’ich way d’ee mean it ? ” 

“‘W’ichever way you please/ as the man said 
w’en the alligator axed ’im w’ether he’d prefer to 
be chawed up or bolted whole.” 

Concluding that, on the whole, the conversation 
of his friends did not tend to edification, Miles left 
them and went to one of the starboard gangways, 
from which he could take a contemplative view 
of Nature in her beautiful robe of night. Curi¬ 
ously enough, Marion chanced to saunter towards 
the same gangway, and unexpectedly found him 
there. 

“ A lovely night, Mr. Miles,” she remarked. 

Miles started, and turned with slight confusion 
in his face, which, happily, the imperfect light 
concealed. 

“ Beautiful indeed! ” he exclaimed, thinking of 
the face before him—not of the night! 

“ A cool, beautiful night like this,” continued the 
girl—who was of the romantic age of sixteen— 
“ will remain long, I should think, in your memory, 
and perhaps mitigate, in some degree, the hard¬ 
ships that are before you on the burning sand of 
Egypt.” 

“ The memory of this night,” returned Miles, with 
fervour, “will remain with me for ever ! It will not 
only mitigate what you are pleased to call hard- 




134 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


ships, but will cause me to forget them altogether 
—forget everything ! ” 

“Nay, that were impossible,” rejoined Marion, 
with a slight laugh; “ for a true soldier cannot for¬ 
get Duty! ” 

“ True, true,” said Miles dubiously; “ at least it 
ought to be true ; and I have no doubt is so in many 
cases, but-” 

What more he might have said cannot now be 
told, for they were interrupted at the moment by 
Captain Lacey, who, happening to walk in that 
direction, stopped and directed Miss Drew’s atten¬ 
tion to a picturesque craft, with high lateen sails, 
which had just entered into the silver pathway of 
the moon on the water. 

Miles felt that it would be inappropriate in him 
to remain or to join in the conversation. With a 
heart full of disappointment and indignation he 
retired, and sought refuge in the darkest recesses of 
the pantry, to which he was welcome at all times, 
being a great favourite with the steward. 

Whether it was the smell of the cheese or the 
ketchup we know not, but here better thoughts 
came over our hero. Insignificant causes often 
produce tremendous effects. The touching of a 
trigger is but a small matter; the effects of such a 
touch are sometimes deadly as well as touching. 
Possibly the sugar, if not the cinnamon, may have 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


135 


been an element in his change of mind. At all 
events it is safe to say that the general smell of 
groceries was associated with it. 

Under the benign influence of this change he be¬ 
took himself to the berth of the chief ship’s-carpenter, 
with whom also he was a favourite. Finding the 
berth empty, and a light burning in it, he sat down 
to wait for his friend. The place was comparatively 
quiet and retired. Bethinking himself of the little 
packet which he had received at Portsmouth, and 
which still lay unopened in the breast-pocket of his 
shell-jacket, he pulled it out. Besides a Testament, 
it contained sundry prettily covered booklets written 
by Miss Robinson and others to interest the public 
in our soldiers, as well as to amuse the soldiers 
themselves. In glancing through “ Our Soldiers 
and Sailors,” “ Institute Memories,” “ Our Warfare,” 
“ The Victory,” “ Heaven’s Light our Guide,” “ Good¬ 
bye,” and similar works, two facts were suddenly 
impressed upon his mind, and strongly illuminated 
—namely, that there is such a thing as living for 
the good of others, and that up to that time he had 
lived simply and solely for himself! 

The last sentence that had fallen from the lips of 
Marion that night was also strongly impressed upon 
him:—“ a true soldier cannot forget Duty! ” and he 
resolved that “ Duty ” should be his life’s watchword 
thenceforward. Such is the influence that a noble- 


136 BLUE LIGHTS, OR 

minded woman may unconsciously have over even 
an unsteady man! 

Soon after this the troop-ship reached the end of 
her voyage, and cast anchor off the coast of Egypt, 
near the far-famed city of Alexandria. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


137 


CHAPTER IX. 

OUR HERO MEETS A FRIEND UNEXPECTEDLY IN PECULIAR CIR¬ 
CUMSTANCES, AND HAS A VERY STRANGE ENCOUNTER. 

Miles Milton’s first experience in Alexandria 
was ratlier curious, and, like most surprising things, 
quite unlooked for. 

The troops were not permitted to land imme¬ 
diately on arrival, but of course no such prohibition 
lay on the passengers, who went off immediately. 
In the hurry of doing so, the clergyman and his 
family missed saying good-bye to Miles, who hap¬ 
pened to be on duty in some remote part of the 
vessel at the time, and the shore-boat could not be 
delayed. This caused Mr. and Mrs. Drew much 
regret, but we cannot add that it caused the same 
to Miss Drew, because that young lady possessed 
considerable command of feature, and revealed no 
feeling at all on the occasion. 

Miles was greatly disappointed when he found 
that they had gone, but consoled himself with the 
hope that he could make use of his first day’s leave 
to find them out in the town and say good-bye. 




138 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


“ But why encourage hope ? ” thought Miles to 
himself, with bitterness in his heart; “ I ’m only a 
private. Marion will never condescend to think of 
me. What have I to offer her except my worthless 
self ? ” (you see Miles was beginning to see through 
himself faintly.) “ Even if my father were a rich 
man, able to buy me out of the army and leave me 
a fortune—which he is not—what right have I 
to expect that a girl like Marion would risk her 
happiness with a fellow who has no profession, no 
means of subsistence, and who has left home with¬ 
out money and without leave ? Bah ! Miles, you 
are about the greatest goose that ever put on a red 
coat!” 

He was getting on, you seel If he had put 
“sinner” for “goose,” his shot would have been 
nearer the mark; as it was, all things considered, it 
was not a miss. He smarted considerably under the 
self-condemnation. If a comrade had said as much 
he would have resented it hotly, but a man is 
wonderfully lenient to himself! 

Under the impulse of these feelings he sought and 
obtained leave to go into the town. He wished to 
see how the new Soldiers’ Institute being set up 
there was getting along. He had promised Miss 
Robinson to pay it a visit. That was his plea. He 
did not feel called upon to inform his officer of his 
intention to visit the Drews ! That was quite a 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


139 


private matter—yet it was the main matter; for, on 
•landing, instead of inquiring for the spot where the 
new Institute was being erected, he began a search 
among the various hotels where English visitors 
were wont to put up. The search was successful. 
He found the hotel, but the family had gone out, 
he was told, and were not expected back till even¬ 
ing. 

Disappointment, of course, was the result; but he 
would wait. It is amazing what an amount of 
patience even impatient men will exercise when 
under the influence of hope! There was plenty of 
time to run down and see the Institute, but he 
might miss his friends if they should chance to 
come in and go out again during his absence. What 
should he do ? 

“ Bother the Institute ! ” he muttered to himself. 
“ It’s only bricks an’ mortar after all, and I don’t 
know a soul there.” 

He was wrong on both of these points, as we shall 
see. 

“What’s the use of my going?” he murmured, 
after a reflective pause. 

“ You promised the ladies of the Portsmouth 
Institute that you’d go to see it, and report pro¬ 
gress,” said that extraordinary Something inside of 
him, which had a most uncomfortable way of starting 
up and whispering when least expected to do so. 




140 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


And/’ added Something, “ every gentleman should 
keep his word.” 

“True,” replied Miles, almost angrily, though 
inaudibly; “ hut I ’m not a gentleman, I’m only a 
private ! ” 

“ Goose ! ” retorted that pertinacious Something; 
“is not every private a gentleman who acts like 
one? And is not every gentleman a blackguard 
who behaves as such ? ” 

Miles was silenced. He gave in, and went off at 
once to visit the Institute. 

As he walked down the long straight street 
leading to the Grand Square, which had been almost 
destroyed by the bombardment, he passed numerous 
dirty drinking-shops, and wondered that English 
soldiers would condescend to enter such disgusting 
places. He was but a young soldier, and had yet to 
learn that, to men who have been fairly overcome 
by the power of the fiend Strong Drink, no place 
is too disgusting, and no action too mean, so that 
it but leads to the gratification of their intoler¬ 
able craving. It is said that in two streets only 
there were 500 of these disreputable drinking- 
shops. 

All sorts and conditions of men passed him as he 
went along: Turks, Greeks, Arabs, Negroes, Erench- 
men, Italians, and Englishmen, the gay colours of 
whose picturesque costumes lent additional brilliancy 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


141 


to the sunny scene. The sight of the dark-skinned 
men and veiled women of the Arab quarter did 
more, however, than anything else to convince our 
hero that he had at last really reached the “ East ” 
—the land of the ancient Pharaohs, the Pyramids, 
the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, and of modern 
contention! 

Presently he came upon the piece of waste ground 
which had been chosen as the site of the new 
Institute. It was covered with the ruins—shattered 
cement, glass, tiles, and general wreckage—of the 
buildings that had stood there before the bombard¬ 
ment, and on three sides it was surrounded by 
heaps of stones, shattered walls, and rubbish, some 
acres in extent. But the place had the great 
advantage of being close to the old harbour, not far 
from the spot where ancient Alexandria stood, and 
was open to the fresh, cooling breezes that came in 
from the sea. 

Arab workmen were busily employed at the time 
on the foundations of the building, under the super¬ 
intendence of an unmistakable and soldierly-looking 
Englishman, whose broad back was presented to 
Miles as he approached. Turning suddenly round, 
Mr. Tufnell, the manager of the Portsmouth Insti¬ 
tute, confronted the visitor with a stern but per¬ 
spiring visage, which instantly became illuminated 
with a beaming smile. 




142 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ What! Tufnell! ” exclaimed our hero, in amaze¬ 
ment. 

“ Ay, Miles; as large as life.” 

“ Larger than life, if anything,” said Miles, grasp¬ 
ing the proffered hand, and shaking it warmly. 
“Why, man, the air of Egypt seems to magnify 
you.” 

“ More likely that the heat of Egypt is making 
me grow. %hat are you rubbing your eyes for ? ” 

“ To make sure that they do not deceive me,” 
answered Miles. “ Did I not leave you behind me 
at Portsmouth ? ” 

“ So you did, friend; but the voyage in a troop¬ 
ship is not the fastest method of reaching Egypt. 
As you see, I’ve overshot you in the race. I have 
come to put up the new building. But come to 
my palace here and have a talk and a cup of 
coffee. Glad to see that the voyage has agreed 
with you.” 

They reached the palace to which the manager 
referred, and found it to be a cottage of corrugated 
iron amidst the rubbish. 

“ Here,” said Tufnell, offering his friend a chair, 
“ I spend all my time and reign supreme—monarch 
of all I survey. These are my subjects,” he added, 
pointing to the Arab workmen ; “ that wilderness of 
rubbish is my kingdom; and yon heap of iron and 
stone is the material out of which we mean to 


HOT WOKE IN THE SOUDAN. 


143 


construct our Alexandria Institute. To save time 
(the most valuable article in the world, if you’ll 
believe me), Miss Bobinson, as, perhaps, you may 
have heard, bought an old iron edifice in London, 
known as the Brompton Oratory, and sent it out 
here—like a convict—at Government expense. You 
see, not only the public, but Government, have now 
come to recognise the value of her work for 
soldiers.” < 

“ And your subjects, the Arabs—are they obedient 
and loyal ? ” asked Miles. 

“ Pretty well; but they give me some trouble 
now and then. The other day, for instance, we had 
a sad accident, which at one time I feared would 
land us in serious difficulties. It is necessary, you 
must know, in laying foundations here, to dig 
through the sand some twelve to fifteen feet till 
water is reached, and then we lay a soliu stone 
foundation about nine feet wide. Well, while 
digging this foundation, the sand fell in on one of the 
workmen. I off coat at once and set to work with 
a shovel, shouting to the fellows to help me. Instead 
of helping, they rushed at me in a body to prevent 
my interfering in the matter. Then they quarrelled 
among themselves as to the best way of getting the 
man out, and the result was that the poor fellow was 
suffocated, though he might easily have been rescued 
by prompt action. But that was not the end of it 




144 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


The relations and friends of the man came down, 
made Eastern howling and lamentation over him, 
and laid his corpse at the door of my cottage, holding 
me responsible for his life, and demanding com¬ 
pensation ! And it was not till I had paid a few 
francs to every brother and cousin and relative 
belonging to him that their grief was appeased and 
the dead body carried away. 

“ Still the matter did not end here, for next day 
the workmen said the accident was owing to the 
omission of a sacrifice at the commencement of 
the work, and they must have a lamb to kill on the 
ground, or more lives would certainly be lost. So I 
bought them a lamb, which they duly killed, 
cooked, and ate, after sprinkling its blood on the 
four corners of the foundation and on the walls. 
I had the skin of this lamb dressed and sent home 
as a curiosity.” 1 

“You appear to have pretty rough times of it 
then, on the whole,” said Miles. 

“ I never counted on smooth times,” returned Tuf- 
nell; “besides, being used to roughing it, I am always 
glad to do so in a good cause. My palace, as you see, 
is not a bad one, though small. It is pretty hot too, 
as you seem to feel; and they tell me there will be 
some interesting variety in my experiences when 

i This fleece is now, among other curiosities, at the Portsmouth 
Institute. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


145 


the rainy season sets in ! I wouldn’t mind it so 
much if I could only he left to sleep in peace at 
nights. I stay here, you see, night and day, and 
what wi’ the Arabs prowling around, whispering 
and trying to get in, and the wild dogs makin’ the 
neighbourhood a place o’ public meeting—barking, 
howling, and quarrelling over their sorrows like 
human bein’s, they don’t give me much rest.” 

"I have read of these dogs before,” said Miles. 
“ Are they really as wild and dangerous as they get 
credit for ? ” 

“ If you’d seen the fight I had wi’ them the other 
night you’d have no doubt on that point. Why, a 
gang of ’em made a regular attack on me, and if it 
hadn’t been that I was pretty active with my sword- 
stick, they’d have torn me in bits. Let me advise 
you never to go out after nightfall without one. Is 
that one in your hand ? ” 

“ No, it is merely a cane.” 

“Well, exchange with me. There’s no saying 
when you may want it.” 

Tufnell took a light sword-stick which lay on the 
table and handed it to Miles, who accepted it laugh¬ 
ingly, and without the slightest belief that he should 
ever have occasion to use it. 

In chatting about the plans of the building and 
the prospects of success, our hero became at last so 
deeply interested—partly, no doubt, because of his 
K 




146 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


friend’s enthusiasm—that he forgot the flight of time, 
and the evening was advancing before he rose to 
leave. 

“Now, Tufnell,” he said suddenly, “ I must be off, 
I have another call of importance to make.” 

“ What! won’t you stop and have a cup of coffee 
with me ? ” 

“Impossible. My business is urgent. I want 
to see friends whom I may not have the chance of 
seeing again. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night, then, and have a care of the dogs, 
specially after nightfall.” 

On returning to the hotel shortly after sunset, 
Miles came to the conclusion that his love must 
certainly be “true” for its course was not running 
“ smooth.” His friends had not yet returned. Mrs. 
Drew had indeed come back, alone in a cab, but she 
had “ von headik an’ vas go to the bed.” 

Waiting about in front of the hotel for an hour 
or two proved to be too much for our hero’s nerves; 
he therefore made up his mind to exhaust his 
nervous system by means of a smart walk. Soon he 
found himself in a lonely place, half-way between 
the Grand Square and the Ramleh Gate, with a 
deliciously cool breeze playing on his brow, and a 
full moon sailing overhead. 

No one was moving about on the road along which 
he walked. He had it all to himself at first, and the 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


147 


evening would have been quiet as well as beautiful 
but for the yelping dogs which had, by that time, 
come out of their day-dens to search and fight for 
food and hold their nightly revels. 

All round him were the heaps of rubbish caused 
by bombardment, and the ruined houses which war 
had rendered tenantless, though here and there the 
uprising of new buildings proved that the indomi¬ 
table energy of man was not to be quelled by war or 
anything else. A flickering oil-lamp placed here 
and there at intervals threw a sickly yellow light 
into dark recesses which the moonbeams failed to 
reach. Intermingled with these were a few date- 
palms and bananas. After a time he observed a 
couple of figures in advance of him—a man and 
woman—walking slowly in the same direction. 

Not wishing to have his thoughts disturbed, 
he pushed on, intending to pass the wayfarers. 
He had got to within a hundred paces of them 
when he became aware of a violent pattering 
sound behind him. Stopping and looking back he 
saw a pack of eight or nine of the wild, half-famished 
dogs of the place coming along the road at full 
gallop. He was quite aware that they were the 
savage, masterless creatures which keep close in 
hiding during the day, and come out at night to 
search for something to devour, but he could not 
bring himself to believe that any sort of dog was a 





148 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


dangerous animal. He therefore merely looked at 
them with interest as being natives of the place! 

They passed without taking notice of him—as 
ugly and wolfish a pack as one could wish to see— 
led by a big fellow like a ragged disreputable collie. 
They also passed, with apparent indifference, the 
wayfarers in advance, who had stopped to look at 
them. 

Suddenly, and without a note of warning, the 
whole pack turned and rushed back, yelling fiercely, 
towards the man and woman. The latter clung to 
the left arm of the former, who raised his stick, 
and brought it down with such good-will on the 
skull of the foremost dog that it reeled back with 
an angry howl. It was not cowed, however, for it 
came on again, but the man, instead of striking it, 
thrust the end of his stick down its throat and 
checked it a second time. Still unsubdued, the 
fierce animal flew at him once more, and would 
certainly have overcome him if Miles had not run 
to the rescue at the first sign of attack. Coming 
up quickly, he brought his cane down on the 
dog’s head with all his might, having quite for¬ 
gotten the sword in the excitement of the moment! 
The blow did nothing to the dog, but it shattered 
the cane, leaving the sword exposed! This was 
fortunate. A quick thrust sent the dog flying away 
with yells of pain and fear, followed by all his com- 





ATTACKED BY WILD DOGS.—Page 148 























































































































































































































HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


149 


panions, who seemed to take their cue entirely from 
their leader. 

Turning to congratulate the wayfarers on their 
escape, Miles confronted Mr. Drew and his daughter 
Marion! 

If he had encountered the glare of the great sea- 
serpent he could scarcely have been taken more 
completely aback. 

“ My dear young friend,” said the clergyman, re¬ 
covering himself and grasping the passive hand of 
the young soldier with enthusiasm, though he could 
not help smiling at his obvious embarrassment, 
“ you seem to have been raised up to be our 
rescuer! ” 

“ I hope I have been raised up for something even 
more satisfactory than that,” thought Miles, but he 
did not say so ! What he did say—in a stammering 
fashion—was to the effect that he hoped he might 
be called on to—to—render many more such trifling 
services—no—he did not quite mean that, but if 
they should ever again be in danger, he hoped they 
would call on him to—to—that is- 

“ But I hope sincerely,” he added, changing the 
subject abruptly, “that you are not hurt, Miss Drew?” 

“ Oh dear no ; only a little frightened. But, 
father, are you sure that you are not hurt ? 

“ Quite sure; only a little sprain, I think, or 
twist in my right ankle. The attack was so sudden, 




150 


BLUE LIGHTS, OK 


you see, that in the hurry to meet it my foot turned 
over. Give me your arm, my young friend. There; 
it will be all right in a few minutes. How you 
tremble, Marion! Your nerves have received a 
greater shock than you imagine, and a lame mail 
is but a poor support. Give her your other arm, 
Mr. Miles. You are stout enough to support us 
both.” 

Stout enough to support them both! Ay, at 
that moment Miles felt stout enough to support 
the entire world, like Atlas, on his own broad 
shoulders! With a blush, that the moon gener¬ 
ously refused to reveal, Marion laid her hand lightly 
on the soldier’s arm. It was much too light a 
touch, and did not distribute with fairness the 
weight of his burden, for the old gentleman hung 
heavily on the other arm. Mr. Drew walked very 
slowly, and with evident pain, for the twist of 
the ankle had been much more severe than he at 
first imagined. 

“You will come in and sup with us,” said Mr. 
Drew, on at last reaching the hotel door. 

“Impossible. I am exceedingly sorry, but my 
time has almost expired. Indeed, I fear it has 
expired already, and duty comes before everything 
else. Your daughter taught me that lesson, sir, on 
board ship! ” 

“ Oh you hypocrite! ” remarked his familiar 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


151 


and plain-spoken internal friend; “ where was this 
grand sense of duty when you left home in a rage 
without “ hy your leave ” to father or mother ? Miles 
could make no reply. He had a tendency to silence 
when this friend spoke, and returned to barracks in 
a pensive mood, just in time, as Armstrong said, to 
save his bacon. 




152 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTEE X. 

OFF TO THE WARS. 

The troops sent out to Egypt at that time were 
much wanted to reinforce the southern frontier and 
defend it from the attacks of Osman Digna, who, 
with a large host of the dusky warriors of the 
Soudan, was giving the defenders much trouble, and 
keeping them incessantly on the qui vive. 

Miles Milton had no time while in Alexandria 
for anything but duty. He saw Marion only once 
again before leaving, but did not find an opportunity 
to converse with her alone. To do him justice, he 
had not the most distant intention of declaring the 
state of his feelings, even if the opportunity had 
been given. He merely desired to be in her com¬ 
pany for a little on any terms whatever! 

On that occasion, however, he contrived to scorch 
his heart with a double dose of jealousy, for he 
found two young men visiting the clergyman, each 
of whom seemed to be a friend of the family. One 
was a spendthrift named Eentworth—a young 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


153 


traveller of that loose, easy-going type which is 
occasionally met with in foreign parts, squandering 
the money of a rich father. He was a decidedly 
handsome young fellow, but with the stamp of dis¬ 
sipation already on his countenance. The other was 
a telegraph engineer, with honesty and good-nature 
in every line of his plain countenance. 

Both of these youths paid marked attention to 
Marion—at least Miles thought so—and he hated 
them both accordingly; all the more that he felt 
their eyes to be fixed upon him while he was bid¬ 
ding her “ farewell.” He did not say “ Good-bye.” 
That was too commonplace—in the circumstances 
almost childish. 

There was one gleam of comfort in the fact, 
however, that Marion echoed the word, and that he 
thought—indeed he was sure—her hand trembled 
slightly as she returned, or rather received, his 
squeeze. Miles was very stern of countenance and 
remarkably upright in figure while these adieux 
were being said—for the glare of his rivals, he 
thought, was upon him. 

How the poor fellow got through the preparations 
and packing and parades that were necessary when 
the order came abruptly for the regiment to start 
for Suez we cannot tell. He went about every¬ 
thing mechanically, or like a man in a dream. 
And it was not till they had fairly started in the 




154 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


railway train that he became alive to the serious 
fact that he was actually off to the wars ! 

The accommodation for passengers in that train 
was not good. Distinctly bad, indeed, would be the 
proper term to apply to the kind of cattle-truck in 
which Miles found himself with a detachment of 
the gallant 310th Infantry; and soon the blinding 
dust of Egypt reminded our young soldier that the 
real battle of life had fairly begun. 

“ You ’ll get over it in time, my poor fellow,” said 
his friend Armstrong, who sat beside him. 

“ You need the same consolation yourself, friend 
Willie,” retorted Miles, wiping the dust out of the 
corners of his eyes. 

“I didn’t mean that” returned his friend. “ You 
know what I mean! But cheer up; absence makes 
the heart grow fonder—at the same time it makes 
a fellow fit for duty. I have gone through it myself, 
and know all about it.” 

Miles flushed and felt inclined at first to resent 
this allusion to the state of his affections, but he 
was fortunately saved from taking any notice of it 
by a sudden burst of laughter among the men at a 
remark from Corporal Elynn, who, although this 
was his first visit to Egypt, had undertaken to point 
out to his comrades the various localities which he 
chose to assume were more or less connected with 
Scripture history! 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


155 


Tlie first part of the journey was not particularly 
interesting, and what with the fine sand and the 
great heat the men began to experience the dis¬ 
comforts of an Eastern climate, and to make frequent 
application to their water-bottles. It would have 
been well if they had contented themselves with 
water, and with the cold tea which some of them 
had been provident enough to save up at breakfast; 
but when they reached the first station where there 
was a five minutes’ halt, some of them managed 
to smuggle strong drink into the train. One im¬ 
mediate result was that the men became more 
noisy. 

“Come, give us a song, Gaspard,” cried several 
voices, apparently inspired at the same moment 
with the same idea and desire. 

“ Wan wid a rousin’ chorus, boy,” cried Flynn. 

Gaspard complied, being ever ready to oblige, but 
whether it was the heat, or the dust, or the “ rousin’ ” 
chorus, or the drink, the song was a partial failure. 
Perhaps it was the excess of tremulo induced by 
the motion of the train! At all events it fell fiat, 
and, when finished, a hilarious loud-voiced man 
named Simkin, or Battling Bill, struck up “Buie 
Britannia,” which more than made amends for the 
other, and was sung with intense vigour till the 
next station was reached. 

Here more drink was smuggled on board the 



156 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


train, and, as a natural consequence, men became 
troublesome. A morose man named Sutherland, 
who was apt to grow argumentative and quarrelsome 
in his cups, made an assertion in reference to some¬ 
thing terrestrial, which had no particular interest 
for any mortal man. Simkin contradicted it. 
Sutherland repeated it. Simkin knocked Suther¬ 
land’s helmet overboard. Sutherland returned the 
compliment in kind, and their comrades had to quell 
an intestine war, while the lost head-pieces were 
left on the arid plain, where they were last seen 
surrounded by wonder-stricken and long-legged 
natives of the Flamingo tribe. 

This loss was a serious one, for exposure of the 
head to the sun in such a climate is exceedingly 
dangerous, and the old hands had great difficulty in 
impressing the fact on Battling Bill and Sutherland, 
who, with the obstinacy of “greenhorns,” made 
light of the danger, and expressed disbelief in sun¬ 
stroke. 

Of course considerable interest was manifested 
when the station of Tel-el-Kebir was reached. 

“ It’s two mile from this, I’ve bin towld,” said 
Flynn, “ where the great battle was fowt.” 0 

“ How d’ee know that, Flynn ? ” asked one. 

“How do I know anything I’m towld but by 
belaivin’ it ? ” returned the corporal. 

“It’s my opeenion,” said the big Scotsman 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


157 


Macleod, “ that if there had been ony better troops 
than Egeeptians to fecht wi’, oor men an’ my Lord 
Wolseley wadna hae fund it sic an easy job.” 

“But it is said that the Egyptians were brave 
enough, and fought and died like men till they 
were fairly overpowered,” said Moses Pyne, who, 
being young and ardent, besides just, felt bound to 
stand up for dead foes. 

“I’m no objeckin’ to their bravery,” returned 
the Scot. “ They did the best they could; but 
what was to be expeckit o’ a wheen men that was 
dragged to the field against their wull, an’ made 
to fecht afore they weel kent hoo to use their 
airms ? ” 

“ Anyhow they gave us a chance to show what 
British soldiers can do,” said Battling Bill. 

“ An’ sure there’s plenty more where they came 
from to give us another chance,” said Elynn. 

“ That’s true, boys. Three cheers for the heroes 
of Tel-el-Kebir, dead and livin’! ” cried Armstrong, 
setting the example. 

The response was prompt and hearty, and for a 
few moments a forest of white helmets waved in 
the air. 

The enthusiasm was not allowed to cool, for the 
next station was Kassassin, where the Life Guards 
and our cavalry made their midnight charges; and 
where there occurred, perhaps, one of the longest 



158 


CLUE LIGHTS, OR 


day’s fighting in the war of 1882. Here, also, they 
saw the graves of the poor fellows who fell at that 
time, but the sight did not depress the men much. 
The somewhat lugubrious Sutherland alone seemed 
to take a serious view of such matters. 

“ It’s a’ vera weel for licht-hearted lads like you 
to laugh an’ cheer,” he said, “ but there’s naething 
mair certain than that some o’ you that’s laughin’ 
an’ cheerin’ yenoo, an’ boastin’ o’ lickin’ the Soudan 
neegers, ’ll fill sandy graves afore lang.” 

“You don’t know that, Scotty. Pr’a’ps we ’ll all 
escape and return to old England together,” said one 
of his comrades. 

“ Arrah! if I did git into wan o’ the sandy graves 
ye spake of,” remarked Elynn, “ I do belaive I’d rise 
out of it just for the pleasure o’ contradictin’ you, 
Sutherland.” 

“ H’m! nae doot. Contradictiousness whiles maks 
fowk lively that wad be dull an’ deed eneuch with- 
oot it. But did onybody iver hear o’ a reg’ment 
gaun’ oot to the wars an’ cornin’ back jist as it went ? 
That’s the question-” 

“As Hamlet’s ghost said when he was takin’ a 
night-walk to cool his-self,” interposed Simkin. 

“ It wasna his ghost; it was his faither’s ghost,” 
cried Sutherland ; “ an’ I’m no’ sure that-” 

“ Howld yer tongues, both o’ ye ! ” cried Elynn; 
“sure the loss o’ yer helmets is beginning to tell on 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


159 


yer heads already. What can the line be I see in 
the distance over there ? I do belaive it’s another 
o’ thim broad rivers that seem to cut up this land 
all into stripes.” 

“ Why, it’s the canal, man,” cried Moses Pyne, 
who was more or less enthusiastic about all the 
sights and scenes they were passing. “ Don’t ye see 
the ships ? ” 

“ Sure enough, you ’re right, Moses, as ye ginerally 
are whin you’re not wrong. There’s some ships 
cornin’ wan way an’ some goin’ the other. Och! 
but he is a great jainius drat Frenchman as tied 
the two says togither—Lips—Lisps—what is it they 
calls him ? I’ve clane forgot.” 

“ Lesseps,” said Miles, as he gazed with unusual 
interest on this wonderful highway of nations. 

The troops reached Suez after a ten hours’journey, 
the distance being about 230 miles. Our hero made 
the acquaintance here of a private of marines named 
Stevenson, with whom he afterwards served in the 
Soudan, and with whom' he became very friendly, 
not only because their spirits were sympathetic, but 
because, having been brought up in the same part of 
England, they had similar memories and associations 
in regard to “ home.” Only those who have wan¬ 
dered long and far from their native land can under¬ 
stand the attractive influence that arises between 
men who meet abroad and find that they can chat 



160 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


about the same places and persons in the “ old 
country.” 

It was Saturday when the troops arrived at Suez, 
and the heavy dew that fell rendered the night 
bitterly cold, and felt to be so all the more because 
of the intense heat of the day. Sunday began with 
“ rousing out ” at six, breakfast at seven, parade at 
eight, and “divine service” thereafter. As there 
was no clergyman at the place at the time, the duty 
was performed by one of the officers. Doubtless 
among the officers there are men who not only can 
“read prayers” well, but who have the spirit of 
prayer in them. That such, however, is not always 
the case may be gathered from the remark of one 
of the men upom^ftis occasion. 

“W’y, you know, Tom,” said this rather severe 
critic to his comrade confidentially, “ there’s one 
advantage in fast readin’, that it gets the business 
soon over, which is some sort o’ comfort to fellows 
that has got to attend whether they like it or not, 
hot or cold, fresh or tired, unless dooty prevents. 
But the hofficer that did dooty to-day seemed to me 
to ’ave made a wager to read the prayers against 
time, an’ that can do no good at all to any one, you 
know. Far better, in my opinion, to ’ave no service 
at all. No wonder men won’t listen. Why, it’s a 
mockery—that’s what it is.” 

A walk round Suez with Armstrong and Stevenson 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


161 


till tattoo at 9.30 finished the day, and convinced 
Miles and his friends that the sooner they bade 
adieu to that place the better for all of them. 

Their wishes were gratified almost sooner than 
they wished 1 



162 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTEE XI. 

NEW AND SAD MINGLED WITH CURIOUS EXPERIENCES. 

At Suez Miles Milton first made acquaintance 
with the shady side of war. 

Before the commandiug officer, after parade next 
morning, they received marching orders, and kit- 
muster followed. In the afternoon the Loch-Ard 
steamer came in from Suakim, with sick, wounded, 
and invalids, and a large party was told off to 
assist in landing them and their baggage. Miles 
was one of the party. The dock where the vessel 
lay was three miles off, and the greater part of this 
distance the invalids were brought by train; but the 
latter part of the journey had to be done on foot by 
those who could walk, and on stretchers by those 
who could not. 

Oh! it was pitiful to see those battered, sunburnt, 
bloodless young men, with deep lines of suffering on 
their faces, aged before their time, and the mere 
wrecks of what they once were. Men who had gone 
to that region strong, active, ruddy, enthusiastic, and 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


163 


who, after a few months, returned thus feeble and 
shattered—some irreparably so; others with perhaps 
years of joyless life before them; a few with the 
unmistakable stamp of death already on their brows. 

There were about forty altogether. Some, as we 
have said, were carried from the vessel, and not one 
of the forlorn band could get on without the assist¬ 
ance of their fresh comrades from England. 

One tall, deep-chested young soldier, who must 
have been a splendid specimen of manhood when 
he landed in Egypt, was supported on one side by 
Miles, and on the other by Stevenson. 

“Halt a moment,” said the invalid, in a weak 
voice and with an apologetic smile. “I—I can’t 
get along quite as fast as I used to.” 

His trembling legs and bowed back did not require 
the tongue or the large sunken eyes to confirm that 
obvious truth. 

“ Poor fellow !” said Miles—with difficulty, owing 
to the lump in his throat—“ you ought to have had 
a stretcher. Here, sit down a bit on this stone. 
Have you been wounded ?” 

“Ay,” returned the man with a look of quiet 
resignation that seemed to have become habitual to 
him, “ I have been wounded, but not by spear or 
bullet. It’s the climate that has done for me. I 
used to think that nothing under the sun could 
quell me, but the Lord has seen fit to bring down 



164 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


my pride in that matter. At the same time, it’s 
only fair to say that He has also raised me np, and 
given me greater blessings than He has taken away. 
They told me in Portsmouth that He would, and 
it has come true.” 

“ At the Institute ?” asked Stevenson, eagerly. 

“Ay—the Soldiers’ Institute,” answered the in¬ 
valid. 

“God bless you!” returned the marine, grasping 
his hand. “ It was there I was brought to God 
myself. Cheer up, brother! You 11 soon be in 
hospital, where good food an’ physic an’ nursing will 
bring you round, mayhap, an’ make you as ship¬ 
shape as ever.” 

“ It may be so, if He wills it so,” returned the 
trooper softly; “ but I have a little book called ‘ Our 
Warfare,’ and a letter from the ‘ Soldier’s Priend ’ in 
my pocket, which has done me more good than all 
the hospitals and physic in Egypt can do. Come, 
let us go on. I’m better now.” 

Eising and putting a long arm round the shoulders 
of each of his new friends, the trooper slowly brought 
up the rear of the touching procession which had 
already passed them on its way to Suez. 

In the vessel which had brought those unfortunate 
men from Suakim, Miles and his comrades soon 
found themselves advancing down that region of 
sweltering heat called the Eed Sea. The sight of 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 165 

the disabled men had naturally, at first, a depressing 
effect on the men; but the influence of robust health, 
youth, strong hope, and that light-hearted courage 
which makes the British soldier so formidable to his 
foes, soon restored to most of them their wonted free- 
and-easy enjoyment of the present and disregard for 
the future. Even the serving out of cholera-belts 
and pocket-filters failed to allay their exuberant 
spirits. 

The Loch-Ard, although doubtless a good ship for 
carrying coals, was very ill-suited to convey troops. 
But in times of war, and in distant lands, soldiers 
lay their account with roughing it. 

They soon found that a little of the physic which 
is supposed to be “ rough on rats ” would have been 
of advantage; for the very first night many of the 
men were awakened by those creatures nibbling at 
their toes ! Everything on board was dirty: the tin 
pannikins were rusty, the biscuit was mouldy and 
full of creatures that the captain called weevils and 
MacLeod styled wee-deevils. Some of the biscuit 
was so bad that it had to be thrown away, and the 
remainder eaten, as Moses said, with closed eyes! 

“ It’s an ill wind that blaws naebody guid ” said 
MacLeod to Moses Pyne, as he came on deck to 
enjoy a pipe after their first dinner on board. 
“ What d’ ee think that queer cratur Flynn is doin’ 
doon below ? ” 




166 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Nothing very useful, I daresay,” said Moses. 

" Ye’re wrang for ance. He’s lyin’ in ambush 
there, makin’ war on the rats—ay, an’ he’s killed 
twa or three a’ready! ” 

“ You don’t say so! I ’ll go and see the fun.” 

So saying Moses went below, but had just reached 
the foot of the ladder when a boot caught hpjj 
violently on the shins. 

“ Hi! hallo ! ho ! ” shouted Moses. V , - 

“ Och ! git out o’ the line o’ fire wid ye ! There’s ^ 
another! ” growled Flynn, as he fired a second boot, 
which whizzed past the intruder, and a sharp squeak 
told that it had not been fired in vain ! 

Moses beat a hasty retreat, and the Irishman 
' continued the fight with that indomitable persever¬ 
ance for which his countrymen are famous. There 
is no saying how long the action would have lasted, 
but in his energy he knocked away the support of a 
shelf behind him and a small cask of large nails, 
taking him in rear, sent him sprawling on the deck 
and routed him. 

This misadventure did not, however, terminate 
the war. On the contrary, rat-hunting became a 
favourite pastime during the voyage down the Eed 
Sea. Our hero, of course, took his turn at the 
fighting, but We believe that he never received a 
medal for his share in that war. 

They spent one Sunday on the deep, but the only 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


167 


record made of it in the journal of the soldier from 
which most of our facts are gathered is that they 
“ had prayers in racing style—against time ” ! 

As if to cleanse themselves from the impropriety 
of this act the soldiers had a grand washing of 
clothes on the following day, and the day after that 
thfcy arrived at Suakim. 

It is what I call a dreary, dismal-looking town,” 

• -Jlisaid Miles to Armstrong, as they approached. 

“ Might be worse,” replied his friend. 

“Ye aye tak a cheery view o’ things, Airmstrong.” 

“ An’ what for no ? ” asked Sutherland. 

“ You may well ask why not,” said Sergeant Hardy. 

“ I think it wisest to look always on the bright side 
of things.” 

“ Whether it’s dreary or pleasant we ’ll have to J 
make the best we can of it, boys,” said Stevenson; 

“ for this is to be our home for some time to come.” 

“ Horrible ! ” growled Simkin, whose spirit was 
essentially rebellious. 

“ Ochone! ” sighed Flynn, who, we need scarcely 
say, was essentially jolly. 

Further remark was cut short by the voice of 
Captain Lacey ordering the men to fall in, as the 
colonel in command was coming on board to inspect 
them. 

The night of the arrival of the 310th was 
dreadfully hot, insomuch that many of the men 




168 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


found it impossible to sleep. But in the silence of 
that night food for reflection was supplied to the 
wakeful, in the form of sounds that were new to 
many, but soon became familiar to all—namely, the 
boom of big guns and the rattle of musketry. 
Osman Digna was making one of his customary 
attacks on the town, and the defenders were repel¬ 
ling him. Of course the sanguine among the new 
arrivals were much excited, and eager to join in the 
fray ; but their services were not required that night. 
Osman and his dusky hordes were being repulsed 
as usual, and the reinforcements were obliged to 
Content themselves with merely listening to the 
sounds of war. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


169 


CHAPTER XII. 

IN ACTION AT LAST. 

No time was lost in sending the newly arrived 
troops to their sphere of duty. 

There was something appropriate in their landing 
on that day of gunpowdery memories, the 5th 
of November. It was four o’clock when they dis¬ 
embarked. By four-thirty they were drawn up and 
inspected by the General, and immediately there¬ 
after marched off in detachments to their respective 
stations—to Sphinx Bedoubt, Fort Commodore, 
Bulimba, and other points of defence. 

The detachment in which Miles Milton found 
himself was led by Captain Lacey to Sphinx Redoubt, 
where he was greatly pleased to find that his new 
friend, private Stevenson of the marines, was also 
stationed with some of his comrades. 

There are probably times in the experiences of 
most of us when we seem to awake out of a long 
dream and begin to appreciate fully that the circum¬ 
stances in which we are placed are stern realities 



170 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


after all. Such a time of awakening came to our 
hero when he and his comrades each received fifty- 
rounds of ball-cartridge, and stood ready to repel 
assault on the defences of Suakim. 

Hitherto drill and reviews had seemed to him a 
good deal like playing at soldiers. Even when the 
distant sound of the big guns and the rattle of 
small arms touched his ear, the slumber of 
unbelief was only broken—not quite dispelled. 
But now, weighted with the deadly missiles, with 
rifle in hand, with ears alert to every sound, and 
eyes open to every object that might present itself 
on the sandy waste beyond the redoubt, and a 
general feeling of expectancy pervading his thoughts 
and feelings, he became clearly convinced that the 
recent past was no flight of the imagination—that 
he was in very truth a soldier, and that his fighting 
career had in reality begun! 

How, it may not be out of place here to state 
that our hero was not by nature a combative man. 
We think it necessary to point this out, because the 
somewhat pugnacious introduction of Miles into our 
story may have misled the reader on this point. 
His desire for a soldier’s life was founded on a 
notion that it would prove to be a roving, jovial, 
hilarious sort of life, with plenty of sport and 
adventure in foreign lands. Of course he knew 
that it implied fighting also, and he was quite ready 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


171 


for that when it should be required of him; but it 
did not occur to him to reflect very profoundly that 
soldiering also meant, in some instances, exposure 
to withering heat during the day and stifling heat 
during the night; to thirst that seems unquenchable, 
and fatigue from prolonged duty that seems irre¬ 
parable ; to fits of sickness that appear to eliminate 
from stalwart frames all the strength they had ever 
possessed; and fits of the “ blues ” that render the 
termination of life a subject of rather pleasant 
contemplation than otherwise. But all these things 
he found out at Suakim! 

Moreover, it had not occurred to him to think 
deeply on the fact that fighting meant rushing at a 
fellow-man whose acquaintance he had not made 
before; against whom he had not the slightest feeling 
of ill-will, and skewering him with a bayonet, or 
sending a bullet into him which would terminate 
his career in mid-life, and leave a wife and children 
—perhaps a mother also—disconsolate. But he 
also found that out at Suakim! 

We repeat that Miles had no desire to fight, 
though, of course, he had no objection. When the 
officer in command sent him and his comrades to 
their station—after the ball-cartridge supply just 
referred to—and told them to keep a sharp look¬ 
out, for Osman Digna was giving them a great deal 
of trouble at the time, and pointed out where they 



172 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


were to go if attacked, and warned them to be 
ready to turn out on the instant that the bugle 
should sound the alarm, Miles was as full of energy 
and determination to fight and die for his country 
as the best of his comrades, though he did not 
express so strong a wish for a “brush with the 
enemy ” as some of them did, or sympathise much 
with Corporal Flynn when he said— 

“It’s wish in’ I am that Osman an’ his dirty 
naygurs would come down on us this night, for 
we ’re fresh an’ hearty, just off the say, burnin’ for 
fame an’ glory, ivery mother’s son of us, an’ fit to 
cut the black bastes up into mince-meat. Och! 
but it’s thirsty I am! ” 

“ If ye spoke less an’ thocht ‘ mair ye wadna be 
sae dry, maybe,” remarked Saunders, in a cynical 
tone. 

“ Hoots, man, let the cratur alane,” said MacLeod, 
as he busied himself polishing up some dim parts of 
his rifle. “It’s no muckle pleesure we’re like to 
hae in this het place. Let the puir thing enjoy his 
boastin’ while he may.” 

“ Sure an’ we ’re not widout consolation anyhow,” 
retorted the corporal; “ for as long as we’ve got you, 
Mac, and your countryman, to cheer us wid your 
wise an’ lively talk we ’ll niver die o’ the blues.” 

As he spoke a tremendous explosion not far off 
caused the redoubt to tremble to its foundations. 


HOT WOKK IN THE SOUDAN. 


173 


At the same moment the alarm sounded, the men 
sprang up, seized their arms, and stood ready for an 
attack ; but to their surprise no attack was made. 

“ Surely it must have been one of the mines you 
were telling me about,” said Miles, in a low voice to 
Sergeant Gilroy, who stood near to him. 

“ It was one of them unquestionably, for a corporal 
of the Berkshire regiment told me Lieutenant Young 
placed the mine there yesterday.” 

While Gilroy was speaking, Lieutenant Young 
himself came along, engaged in earnest conversa¬ 
tion with Captain Lacey, and stood still close beside 
Miles. 

“ What puzzles me, is that they have not followed 
it up with a few volleys according to their usual 
custom,” said the former, in a low voice. “ Luckily 
they seldom do any harm, for they are uncommonly 
bad shots, but they generally try their best to do 
us mischief, and always make a good deal of noise 
about it.” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Captain Lacey, “ your mine 
has done so much execution this time, and killed so 
many men, that they’ve got a fright and run away.” 

“ It may be so, but I think not. The Soudanese 
are not easily frightened, as we have some cause to 
know.” 

“Have you many mines about?” asked the 
captain. 


174 


BLUE LIGHTS, Oil 


* 




“ Yes, we have a good many. And they form a 
most important part of our defence, for we are not 
very well supplied with men, and the Egyptian 
troops are not to be depended on unless backed up by 
ours. These mines require to be carefully handled, 
however, for our shepherds take the cattle out to 
graze every day, so that if I were to fail to dis¬ 
connect any of them in the mornings, we should 
have some of our cattle blown up; and if I failed 
to connect them again at night, the enemy would 
attack us more vigorously. As it is, they are very 
nervous about the mines. They have pluck to face 
any foe that they can see, but the idea of an unseen 
foe, who lurks underground anywhere, and may 
suddenly send them into the sky like rockets, daunts 
them a bit.” 

“And little wonder!” returned the captain. 

“From what you say I judge that you have the 
management of most of the mines.” 

“Of all of them,” answered the lieutenant, with 
a modest look. 

There was more than modesty in this young 
officer of Engineers; there was heroism also. He 
might have added (though he did not), that this 
duty of connecting and disconnecting the mines ' 
each night and morning was such a dangerous 
service that he declined to take men out with him, 
and invariably did the work personally and alone. 7 


■ 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


175 


The mystery of the explosion on the night we 
write of was explained next morning when a party 
sallied forth to see what damage had been done. 
They found, instead of dismembered men, the rem¬ 
nants of a poor little hare which had strayed across 
the fatal line of danger and been blown to atoms. 
Thus do the lives of the innocent too often fall a 
sacrifice to the misdeeds of the guilty! 

Next night, however, the defenders were roused 
by a real attack. 

The day had been one of the most trying that 
the new arrivals had yet experienced. The seasoned 
men, who had been formed by Nature, apparently, 
of indestructible material, said it was awful. The 
thermometer stood at above 110 degrees in the 
shade; there was not a breath of air moving; the 
men were panting, almost choking. Even the 
negroes groaned, and, drawing brackish water from 
a well in the fort, poured it over their heads and 
bodies—but with little benefit, for the water itself 
was between 95 and 100 degrees! 

“ It ’ll try some o’ the new-comers to-night, if I’m 
not mistaken,” remarked one of the indestructible 
men above referred to, as he rose from dinner and 
proceeded to fill his pipe. 

“ Why d’ you think so ? ” asked Sergeant Hardy, 
whose name was appropriate, for he continued for a 
Ions time to be one of the indestructibles. 

O 


176 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


1 


“ ’Cause it’s always like this when we ’re goin’ to 
have a horrible night.” 

“ Do the nights vary much ? ” asked Armstrong, 
who was still busy with his knife and fork. 

“ Of course they do,” returned the man. “ Some¬ 
times you have it quite chilly after a hot day. 
Other times you have it suffocatin’—like the Black 
Hole of Calcutta—as it ’ll be to-night.” 

‘ f What sort o’ hole was that?” asked Simkin, 
whose knowledge of history was not extensive. 

“ It was a small room or prison into which they 
stuffed a lot of our men once, in India, in awful hot 
weather, an’ kep’ them there waitin’ till the Great 
Mogul, or some chap o’ that sort, should say what 
was to be done wi’ them. But his Majesty was 
asleep at the time, an’ it was as much as their lives 
was worth to waken him. So they had to wait, an’ 
afore he awakened out o’ that sleep most o’ the men 
was dead—suffocated for want o’ fresh air.” 

“ I say, Mac, pass the water,” said Moses Pyne. 
“ It makes a feller feel quite gaspy to think of 
it.” 

The weather-prophet proved to be right. That 
night no one could sleep a wink, except the big 
Scotsman MacLeod. To make matters worse, the 
insects of the place were unusually active. One of 
them especially, not much bigger than a pin-point, 
was irritating out of all proportion to its size, and 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


177 


it kept up, during the night, the warfare which the 
innumerable flies had waged during the day. 

“ It’s no use trying to sleep, Willie,” said Miles 
to Armstrong, who was next to him, as they lay on 
the flat roof of the redoubt, with their rifles resting 
on the sandbags which formed a slight protection 
from the enemy’s fire when one of the frequent 
attacks was made on the town. 

“ So I find,” returned his friend. “ I have tried 
everything. Counting up to hundreds of thousands 
has made me rather more wakeful. I find that 
thinking of Emmy does me most good, but even 
that won’t produce sleep.” 

“ Strange! ” remarked Miles. “ I have been 
trying the same sort of thing—without success. 
And I’ve had an unusually hard day of it, so that I 
ought to be ready for sleep. You were in luck, being 
on police-duty.” 

“H’m! I don’t think much of my luck. But 
let’s hear what you have been up to all day.” 

“Well, first, I began by turning out at 5.30 A.M.,” 
said Miles, rolling with a sigh on his other side, for 
a uniform, cross-belts, boots, ammunition, etc., don’t, 
after all, form an easy night-dress. “ After a cup of 
coffee I fell in with a lot of our fellows, and was 
told off for fatigue-duty. Worked away till 7.30. 
Then breakfast. After that I had to clear up the 
mess ; then got ready for inspection parade at 9.30, 
M 


178 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


after which I had to scrub belts, and clean up 
generally. Dinner over, I was warned to go on 
night-guard; but, for some reason which was not 
stated to me, that was changed, and I'm not sorry 
for it, because the heat has taken a good deal out of 
me, and I prefer lying here beside you, Willie, to 
standing sentry, blinking at the desert, and fancying 
every bush and stone to be a dusky skirmisher of 
Osman Digna. By the way, if that mountain range 
where the enemy lies is twelve or fourteen miles 
distant from the town, they have a long way to come 
when they take a fancy to attack us—which is pretty 
often too. They say he has got two hundred thousand 
men with him. D’you think that can be true ? ” 

A gentle trumpet-note from his friend’s nose told 
Miles that he had brought about what thoughts of 
Emmy had failed to accomplish! 

Thoughts of Marion had very nearly brought him¬ 
self to a similar condition, when a trumpet-blast, 
the reverse of gentle, roused the whole line of 
defence, and, immediately after, sharp firing was 
heard in the direction of the right Water fort, which 
was manned by marines with two Krupp guns and a 
Gardner. A few rounds from the big guns drove 
the enemy back in that direction. 

Miles and those around him, however, had not to 
turn out. Owing to their position on the roof of 
the Sphinx Bedoubt, they had only to roll on their 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


179 


fronts, rest their rifles on the sandbags, and they 
were at once ready for action. 

Round the various forts and redoubts deep and 
broad trenches had been dug, arid they were rendered 
otherwise as strong as possible. The right and left 
Water forts formed the first line of defence. The 
latter fort, being manned by Egyptian troops, was 
more frequently favoured with the attentions of 
Osman than the others, for the marines were splen¬ 
did men, and the native chief was well aware of that. 
All the places around, which offered the slightest 
shelter to the enemy, had been carefully measured as 
to distance, so that the exact range could be fixed at 
a moment’s notice. Then the war-vessels and one of 
the forts were furnished with electric lights, so that 
by bringing these to bear on the foe, as well as the big 
and little guns—not to mention mines and rifles— 
the attacking host had always a warm reception when 
they paid a visit to the town, and never stayed long! 

The defenders required all these aids, however; for, 
besides a regiment of Egyptian infantry, a company 
of Royal Engineers, and about 500 marines, there 
was only one small battalion of British troops and 
a regiment of Egyptian cavalry. These last were 
extremely useful. Every day they went out scouting 
and clearing around Suakim, and had frequent 
skirmishes with the enemy, in all of which they 
were said to have behaved very well indeed. 



180 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Our party oil the redoubt had not lain there long 
when a sheet of flame seemed to flash out of the 
darkness in front of them. It was followed by the 
rattle of small arms. Instantly the redoubt replied; 
bullets whizzed overhead, and our hero received what 
has of late been called a “ baptism of fire.” 

But he was so busy plying his own weapon that 
he scarcely realised the fact that death was ever 
and anon within a few inches of him, until a bullet 
ripped the sandbag on which his rifle rested and 
drove the sand into his face. He became a wiser 
man from that hour, and soon acquired the art of 
performing his duty with the least possible exposure 
of his person, and that for the briefest possible space 
of time! 

Like a first-rate detective, the electric light sought 
out and exposed their foes ; then withering volleys 
sent them scurrying across the country back to their 
native hills. 

“ Sure it’s wid wan eye open we’ve got to slape 
whin the murtherin rascals come down on us like 
that,” observed Corporal Flynn, when the firing had 
slackened to a few dropping shots on both sides. 
“ Av they’d only stand fornint us in the open, it’s 
short work we’d make o’ them. There’s no more 
pluck in them than in my smallest finger.” 

It seemed as if righteous retribution were being 
meted out that night, for a spent ball entered the 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


181 


fort at that moment and, strange to say, hit the 
extreme tip of the corporal’s little finger! 

A howl, as much of surprise as pain, apprised his 
comrades of the fact, and a hearty laugh followed 
when the trifling extent of the injury was ascer¬ 
tained. 

“Serves you right, Flynn, for boasting,” said 
Armstrong, with a grim smile, as he stretched him¬ 
self out and rested his head on a sandbag. “ More¬ 
over, you are unjust, for these black fellows are as 
brave a lot o’ men as British troops have ever 
had to face. Good-night, boys, I’m off to the land 
of Nod!” 



182 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTER XIII. 

TELLS OE SOME OF THE TRIALS, UNCERTAINTIES, DANGERS, 

AND DISASTERS OF WAR. 

Uncertain moonlight, with a multitude of cloud¬ 
lets drifting slowly across the sky so as to reveal, 
veil, partially obscure, or sometimes totally blot out 
the orb of night, may be a somewhat romantic, but 
is not a desirable, state of things in an enemy’s 
country, especially when that enemy is prowling 
among the bushes. 

But such was the state of things one very sultry 
night when our hero found himself standing in the 
open alone, and with thoughts of a varied and 
not wholly agreeable nature for his companions. 

He was on sentry duty. 

It was intensely dark when the clouds partially 
veiled the moon, for she was juvenile at the time— 
in her first quarter; and when the veil was partially 
removed, the desert, for it was little better, assumed 
an indistinct and ghostly-grey appearance. 

Sombre thoughts naturally filled the mind of our 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


183 


young soldier as he stood there, alert, watchful, with 
weapons ready, ears open to the slightest sound, and 
eyes glancing sharply at the perplexing shadows 
that chased each other over the ground like wanton 
Soudanese at play. His faculties were intensely 
strung at what may well he styled “ attention,” and 
riveted on that desert land to which Fate—as he 
called his own conduct—had driven him. Yet, strange 
to say, his mysterious spirit found leisure to fly back 
to old England and revisit the scenes of childhood. 
But he had robbed himself of pleasure in that 
usually pleasant retrospect. He could see only the 
mild, sorrowful, slightly reproachful, yet always 
loving face of his mother when in imagination he 
returned home. It was more than he could bear. 
He turned to pleasanter memories. He was back 
again at Portsmouth, in the reading-room of the 
Soldiers’ Institute, with red-coated comrades around 
him, busy with newspaper and illustrated magazine, 
while the sweet sound of familiar music came from 
the adjoining rooms, where a number of Blue Lights, 
or rather red-coats, who were not ashamed to own and 
serve their Maker, were engaged with songs of praise. 

Suddenly he was back in Egypt with his heart 
thumping at his ribs. An object seemed to move 
on the plain in front of him. The ready bayonet 
was lowered, the trigger was touched. Only for 
a moment, however. The shadow of a cloud had 


184 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


passed from behind a bush—that was all; yet it was 
strange how very like to a real object it seemed to 
his highly-strung vision. A bright moonbeam next 
moment showed him that nothing to cause alarm 
was visible. 

Mind is not so easily controlled as matter. Like 
a statue he stood there in body, but in mind he had 
again deserted his post. Yet not to so great a 
distance as before. He only went the length of 
Alexandria, and thought of Marion! The thought 
produced a glow, not of physical heat—that was 
impossible to one whose temperature had already 
risen to the utmost attainable height—but a glow of 
soul. He became heroic! He remembered Marion’s 
burning words, and resolved that Duty should hence¬ 
forth be his guiding-star! 

Duty! His heart sank as he thought of the 
word, for the Something within him became sud¬ 
denly active, and whispered, “ How about your duty 
to parents ? You left them in a rage. You spent 
some time in Portsmouth, surrounded by good 
influences, and might have written home, but you 
didn’t. You made some feeble attempts, indeed, 
but failed. You might have done it several times 
since you landed in this country, but you haven’t; 
You know quite well that you have not fully re¬ 
pented even yet!” 

While the whispering was going on, the active 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


185 


fancy of the youth saw the lovely face of Marion 
looking at him with mournful interest, as it had 
been the face of an angel, and then there came to 
his memory words which had been spoken to 
him that very day by his earnest friend Stevenson 
the marine: “ No man can fully do his duty to his 
fellows until he has begun to do his duty to God.” 

The words had not been used in reference t^ 
himself, but in connection with a discussion as to 
the motives generally which influence men. But 
the words were made use of by the Spirit as arrows 
to pierce the youth’s heart. 

“ Guilty! ” he exclaimed aloud, and almost 
involuntary followed, “ God forgive me! ” 

Again the watchful ear distinguished unwonted 
sounds, and the sharp eye—wonderfully sharpened 
by frequent danger—perceived objects in motion 
on- the plain. This time the objects were real. 
They approached. It was “ the rounds ” who visited 
the sentries six times during each night. 

In another part of the ground, at a considerable 
distance from the spot where our hero mounted 
guard, stood a youthful soldier, also on guard, and 
thinking, no doubt, of home. He was much too 
young for service in such a climate—almost a boy. 
He was a ruddy, healthy lad, with plenty 'of 
courage and high spirit, who was willing to 
encounter anything cheerfully, so long as, in so 





186 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


doing, he could serve his Queen and country. But 
he was careless of his own comfort and safety. 
Several times he had been found fault with for 
going out in the sun without his white helmet. 
Miles had taken a fancy to the lad, and had spoken 
seriously but very kindly to him that very day 
about the folly of exposing himself in a way that 
had already cost so many men their lives. 

But young Lewis laughed good-naturedly, and 
said that he was too tough to be killed by the 
sun. 

The suffocating heat of that night told upon him, 
however, severely—tough though he was or supposed 
himself to be—while he kept his lonely watch on 
the sandy plain. 

Presently a dark figure was seen approaching. 
The sentinel at once challenged, and brought his 
rifle to the “ ready.” The man, who was a native, 
gave the password all right, and made some 
apparently commonplace remark as he passed, 
which, coupled with his easy manner and the 
correct countersign, threw the young soldier off his 
guard. Suddenly a long sharp knife gleamed in 
the faint light and was drawn across the body of 
Lewis before he could raise a hand to defend him¬ 
self. He fell instantly, mortally wounded, with his 
entrails cut open. At the same moment the tramp 
of the rounds was heard, and the native glided back 


187 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 

into the darkness from which he had so recently- 
emerged. 

When the soldiers came to the post they found 
the poor young soldier dying. He was able to tell 
what had occurred while they were making pre¬ 
parations to carry him away, but when they 
reached the fort they found that his brief career 
had ended. 

A damp was cast on the spirits of the men of his 
company when they learned next day what had 
occurred, for the lad had been a great favourite; but 
soldiers in time of war are too much accustomed to 
look upon death in every form to be deeply or for 
long affected by incidents of the kind. Only the 
comrades who had become unusually attached to 
this poor youth mourned his death as if he had 
been a brother in the flesh as well as in the ranks. 

• “ He was a good lad,” said Sergeant Gilroy, as 
they kept watch on the roof of the fort that night. 
“ Since we came here he has never missed writing 
to his mother a single mail. It is true, being an 
amiable lad, and easily led through his affections, he 
had given way to drink to some extent, but no later 
than yesterday I prevailed upon him to join our 
temperance band-” 

“What? become a Blue Light!” exclaimed 
Sutherland, with something of a sneer in his tone. 

“Ah, comrade ; and I hope to live to see you join 





188 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


our band also, and become one of the bluest lights 
among us,” returned the sergeant good-humouredly. 

“ Never ! ” replied Sutherland, with emphasis ; 
“ you ’ll never live to see that.” 

“ Perhaps not, but if I don’t live to see it some 
one else will,” rejoined the sergeant, laying his hand 
gently on the man’s shoulder. 

“ Is that you again ? It’s wishin’ I am that I 
had you in ould Ireland,” growled Corporal Flynn, 
referring to Osman Digna, whose men had 
opened fire on the neighbouring 4 fort, and again 
roused the whole garrison. “Slape is out o’ the 
question wi’ such a muskitos buzzin’ about. Bad 
luck to ee ! ” 

“ What good would it do to send him to Ireland ? ” 
asked Simkin, as he yawned, rolled over, and, like 
the rest of his comrades, loaded his rifle. 

“Why, man, don’t ye see, av he was in ould 
Ireland he couldn’t be disturbin’ our night’s rest 
here. Moreover, they’d make a dacent man of ’im 
there in no time. It’s always the way; if an 
English blackguard goes over to Ireland he’s almost 
sure to return home more or less of a gintleman. 
That’s why I’ve always advised you to go over, 
boy. An’ maybe if Osman wint he’d-Hallo ! ” 

A flash of light and whistling of bullets overhead 
effectually stopped the Irishman’s discourse. Not 
that he was at all alarmed by the familiar incident, 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


189 


but being a change of subject it became more 
absorbingly interesting than the conversation, besides 
necessitating some active precautions. 

The firing seemed to indicate an attack in several 
places along the line of defence. At one of the 
posts called the New House the attack was very 
sharp. The enemy could not have been much, if at 
all, over three hundred yards distant in the shelter 
of three large pits. Of course the fire was 
vigorously returned. A colonel and major were 
there on the redoubt, with powerful field-glasses, 
and directed the men where to fire until the 
General himself appeared on the scene and took 
command. On the left, from Quarantine Island, 
the Eoyal Engineers kept up a heavy cross-fire, and 
on the right they were helped by a fort which was 
manned by Egyptian troops. From these three 
points a heavy fire was kept up, and continued till 
six o’clock in the morning. 

By that time, the enemy having been finally 
driven out of the pits, a party was sent across to see 
what execution had been done. It was wonderfully 
little, considering the amount of ammunition and 
energy expended. In the first pit one man was 
found dead; a bullet had entered his forehead and 
come out at the back of his head. Moving him a 
little on one side they found another man under 
him, shot in the same way. All round the pit 



190 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


inside were large pools of blood, but no bodies, for 
the natives invariably dragged or carried away their 
dead when that was possible. In the other two 
pits large pools of blood were also found, but no 
bodies. Beyond them, however, one man was 
discovered shot through the heart. He had 
evidently been dragged along the sand, but the 
tremendous fire of the defenders had compelled the 
enemy to drop him. Still further on they found 
twelve more corpses which had been dragged a 
short way and then left. 

Close to these they observed that the sand had 
been disturbed, and on turning it up found that a 
dozen of bodies had been hastily buried there. 
Altogether they calculated that at least fifty of the 
enemy had been killed on that occasion-—a calcula¬ 
tion which was curiously verified by the friendly 
tribes asking permission to bury the dead according to 
the Soudanese custom. This was granted, of course, 
and thus the exact number killed was ascertained, 
but how many had been wounded no one could tell. 

“ Fifty desolated homes! ” remarked one of the 
men, when the number of killed was announced at 
mess that day. He was a cynical, sour-visaged 
man, who had just come out of hospital after a 
pretty severe illness. “ Fifty widows, mayhap,” he 
continued, “to say nothin’ o’ child’n—that are just 
as fond o’ husbands an’ fathers as ours are!'” 


HOT WORK IN THE SQUBlN. 

“Why, Jack Hall, if these are- your^^^twpent^V/r‘ 
you should never have enlisted,” cried^w^okinf^^L x 
a laugh. v ; , A , 

“ I 'listed when I was drunk,” returne^ 
savagely. 

“ Och, then, it sarves ye right! ” said Flynn. 

“ Even a pig would be ashamed to do anythin’ whin 
it was in liquor.” 

The corporal’s remark prevented the conversation 
taking a lugubrious turn, to the satisfaction of a few 
of the men who could not endure to look at any¬ 
thing from a serious point of view. 

“ What’s the use,” one of them asked, “ of pullin’ 
a long face over what you can’t change ? Here we 
are, boys, to kill or be killed. My creed is, ‘ Take 
things as they come, and be jolly ! ’ It won’t mend 
matters to think about wives and child’n.” 

rt Won’t it ? ” cried Armstrong, looking up with a 
bright expression from a sheet of paper on which 
he had just been writing. “Here am I writin’ 
home to my wife—in a hurry too, for I’ve only just 
heard that word has been passed, the mail for 
England goes to-day. I’m warned for guard to¬ 
night, too; an’ if the night takes after the day we ’re 
in for a chance o’ suffocation, to say nothing o’ 
insects—as you all know. How, won’t it mend 
matters that I’ve got a dear girl over the sea to think 
about, and to say ‘God bless her, body and soul’?” 




192 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


“No doubt,” retorted the take-things-as-they - 
come-and-be-jolly man, “but—but-” 

“ But,” cried Hall, coming promptly to his rescue, 
“ have not the Soudanese got wives an’ children as 
well as us ? ” 

“ I daresay they have—some of ’em.” 

“ Well, does the thought of your respective wives 
an’ children prevent your shooting or sticking each 
other when you get the chance ? ” 

“ Of course it don’t! ” returned Armstrong, with a 
laugh as he resumed his pencil. “ What would be 
the use o’ cornin’ here if we didn’t do that ? But I 
haven’t time to argue with you just now, Hall. All 
I know is that it’s my duty to write to my wife, 
an’ I won’t let the chance slip when I’ve got it.” 

“ Bah ! ” exclaimed the cynic, relighting his pipe, 
which in the heat of debate he had allowed to go 
out. 

Several of the other men, having been reminded 
of the mail by the conversation, also betook them¬ 
selves to pen and pencil, though their hands were 
more familiar with rifle and bayonet. Among these 
was Miles Milton. Mindful of his recent thoughts, 
and re-impressed with the word duty , which his 
friend had just emphasised, he sat down and wrote 
a distinctly self-condemnatory letter home. There 
was not a word of excuse, explanation, or palliation 
in it from beginning to end. In short, it expressed 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


193 


one idea throughout, and that was—Guilty! and of 
course this was followed by his asking forgiveness. 
He had forgiveness—though he knew it not—long 
before he asked it. His broken-hearted father and 
his ever-hopeful mother had forgiven him in their 
hearts long before—even before they received that 
treasured fragment from Portsmouth, which began 
and ended with: 

“ Dearest Mother, I am sorry-” ! 

After finishing and despatching the letter, Miles 
went out with a feeling of lightness about his heart 
that he had not felt since that wretched day when 
he forsook his father’s house. 

As it was still early in the afternoon he resolved 
to take a ramble in the town, but, seeing Sergeant 
Gilroy and another man busy with the Gardner gun 
on the roof of the redoubt, he turned aside to ask 
the sergeant to accompany him; for Gilroy was a 
very genial Christian, and Miles had lately begun 
to relish his earnest, intelligent talk, dashed as it 
was with many a touch of humour. 

The gun they were working with at the time 
had been used the day before in ascertaining the 
exact range of several objects on the ground in 
front. 

“ I ’ll be happy to go with you, Miles, after I’ve 
given this gun a clean-out,” said Gilroy. “ Turn the 
handle, Sutherland.” 

N 




194 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“I’ll turn the handle if it’s a’ richt,” said the 
cautious Scot, with some hesitation. 

“It is all right,” returned the sergeant. “We 
ran the feeder out last night, you know, and I want 
to have the barrels cleaned. Turn away.” 

Thus ordered a second time, Sutherland obeyed 
and turned the handle. The gun went off, and 
its contents passed through the sergeant’s groin, 
making a hole through which a man could have 
passed his arm. 

He dropped at once, and while some ran for the 
doctor, and some for water, others brought a stretcher 
to carry the poor fellow to hospital. Meanwhile 
Miles, going down on his knees beside him, raised 
his head and moistened his pale lips with water. 
He could hardly speak, but a smile passed over 
his face as he said faintly, “She’ll get my pre¬ 
sents by this mail. Write, Miles—break it to her 
—we’ll meet again—by the side of Jesus—God be 
praised! ” 

He ceased, and never spoke again. 

Gilroy was a married man, with five children. 
Just before the accident he had written to his wife 
enclosing gifts for his little ones, and telling, in a 
thankful spirit, of continued health and safety. 
Before the mail-steamer with his letter on board 
was out of sight he was dead! 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


195 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

DESCRIBES SOME OF OSMAN DIGNA’s ECCENTRICITIES 
AND OTHER MATTERS. 

One day Miles and his friend Armstrong went to 
have a ramble in the town of Suakim, and were 
proceeding through the bazaar when they encoun¬ 
tered Simkin hurrying towards them with a much 
too serious expression on his face! 

“ Have you heard the n—news ? ” he asked, on 
coming up. 

“ Ho; what’s up ? ” 

“ The old shep—shepherd’s bin killed; all the 
c—cattle c—captured, an’ the Egyptian c—cavalry’s 
bin sent out after them/’ 

“Nonsense! You’re dreaming, or you’ve bin 
drinking,” said Miles. 

“ Neither dreamin’ nor drinkin’,” returned Simkin, 
with indignation, as he suddenly delivered a blow 
at our hero’s face. Miles stopped it, however, gave 
him a playful punch in the chest, and passed on. 

At first Simkin seemed inclined to resent this, 



196 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


but, while lie swayed about in frowning indecision, 
his comrades left him; shaking his head, therefore, 
with intense gravity, he walked away muttering, 
“ Not a bad fellow Miles, after all, if he w—wasn’t 
so fond o’ the b—bottle ! ” 

Miles was at the same moment making the 
same remark to his friend in reference to Simkin, 
and with greater truth. 

“ But I don’t wonder that the men who drink go 
in for it harder than ever here,” continued Miles. 
“ There is such hard work, and constant exposure, 
and so little recreation of any sort. Yet it is a pity 
that men should give way to it, for too many of our 
comrades are on the sick-list because of it, and 
some under the sod.” 

“ It is far more than a pity,” returned Armstrong, 
with unwonted energy. “ Drink with its attendant 
evils is one of the great curses of the army. I 
have been told, and I can well believe it, that drink 
causes more loss to an army than war, the dangers 
of foreign service, and unhealthy climates, all put 
together.” 

“That’s a strong statement, Willie, and would 
need to be founded on good authority. Who told 
you ? ” 

“Our new parson told me, and he is in my 
opinion a good authority, because he is a Christian, 
if ever a man was; and he is an elderly man, besides 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


197 


being uncommonly clever and well informed. He 
told us a great many strong facts at the temperance 
meeting we held last night. I wish you had been 
there, Miles. It would have warmed your heart, I 
think.” 

“ Have you joined them, Willie ? ” 

“Yes, I have; and, God helping me, I mean to 
stick by them ! ” 

“ I would have gone to the meeting myself,” said 
Miles thoughtfully, “ if I had been asked.” 

“ Strange,” returned Armstrong, “ that Sergeant 
Hardy said to me he thought of asking you to 
accompany us, but had an idea that you wouldn’t 
care to go. How, just look at that lot there beside 
the grog-shop door. What a commentary on the 
evils of drink! ” 

The lot to which he referred consisted of a group 
of miserable loungers in filthy garments and fez-caps, 
who, in monkey-like excitement, or solemn stupidity, 
stood squabbling in front of one of the many Greek 
drinking-shops with which the town was cursed. 

Passing by at the moment, with the stately 
contempt engendered by a splendid physique and a 
red coat, strode a trooper—one of the defenders of 
the town. His gait was steady enough, but there 
was that unmistakable something in the expression 
of his face which told that he was in the grip of 
the same fiend that had captured the men round 




198 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


the grog-shop door. He was well known to both 
Armstrong and Miles. 

“Hallo! Johnson,” cried the latter. “Is there 
any truth in the-” 

He stopped, and looked steadily in the trooper’s 
eyes without speaking. 

“ Oh yes, I know what you mean,” said Johnson, 
with a reckless air. “ I know that I’m drunk.” 

“ I wouldn’t say exactly that of you,” returned 
Miles; “but-” 

“Well, well, I say it of myself,” continued the 
trooper. “ It’s no use humbuggin’ about it. I’m 
swimmin’ wi’ the current. Goin’ to the dogs like a 
runaway locomotive. Of course I see well enough 
that men like Sergeant Hardy, an’ Stevenson of the 
Marines, who have been temperance men all their 
lives, enjoy good health—would to God I was like 
’em ! And I know that drinkers are dyin’ off like 
sheep, but that makes it all the worse for me, for, to 
tell you the honest truth, boys—an’ I don’t care who 
knows it—I can't leave off drinkin’. It’s killin’ me 
by inches. I know, likewise, that all the old hard 
drinkers here are soon sent home ruined for life— 
such of ’em at least as don’t leave their miserable 
bones in the sand, and I know that I’m on the road 
to destruction, but I can’t—I won't give it up ! ” 

“Ha! Johnson,” said Armstrong, “these are 
the very words quoted by the new parson at the 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


199 


temperance meetin’ last night—an’ he’s a splendid 
fellow with his tongue. ‘Hard drinker/ says he, 
‘you are humbuggin’ yourself. You say you can’t 
give up the drink. The real truth is, my man, that 
you won’t give it up. If only I could persuade you, 
in God’s strength, to say “ I will you’d soon come 
all right.’ Now, Johnson, if you’ll come with me 

to the next meetin’-” 

“What! me go to a temperance meetin’?” cried 
the trooper with something of scorn in his laugh. 
“ You might as well ask the devil to go to church! 
No, no, Armstrong, I’m past prayin’ for—thank you 
all the same for invitin’ me. But what was you 
askin’ about news bein’ true ? What news ? ” 

“ Why, that the old shepherd has been killed, and 
all our cattle are captured, and the Egyptian 
cavalry sent after them.” 

“ You don’t say so ! ” cried the trooper, with the 
air of a man who suddenly shakes off a heavy burden. 
„ If that’s so, they ’ll be wantin’ us also, no doubt.” 

Without another word he turned and strode 
away as fast as his long legs could carry him. 

Although there might possibly be a call for 
infantry to follow, Miles and his friend did not see 
that it was needful to make for their fort at more 
than their ordinary pace. 

It was a curious and crowded scene they had to 
traverse. Besides the grog-shops already mentioned 




200 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


there were numerous coffee-houses, where, from 
diminutive cups, natives of temperate habits slaked 
their thirst and discussed the news—of which, by 
the way, there was no lack at the time; for, besides 
the activity of Osman Digna and his hordes, there 
were frequent arrivals of mails, and sometimes of 
reinforcements, from Lower Egypt. In the side 
streets were many smithies, where lance-heads and 
knives were being forged by men who had not the 
most distant belief that such weapons would ever 
be turned into pruning-hooks. There were also 
workers in leather, who sewed up passages of the 
Koran in leathern cases and sold them as amulets to 
be worn on necks and arms. Elsewdiere, hairdressers 
were busy greasing and powdering with the dust of 
red-wood the bushy locks of Hadendoa dandies. In 
short, all the activities of Eastern city life were being 
carried on as energetically as if the place were in 
perfect security, though the only bulwark that pre¬ 
served it, hour by hour, from being swept by the 
innumerable hordes of Soudan savagery, consisted 
of a few hundreds of British and Egyptian soldiers! 

Arrived at the Sphinx Eort, the friends found 
that the news was only too true. 

The stolen cattle belonged to the people of Suakim. 
Every morning at six o’clock it was the custom of 
the shepherds to go out with their herds and flocks 
to graze, there being no forage in or near the town. 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


201 


All had to be back by sunset, when the gates were 
locked, and no one was allowed out or in till six the 
next morning. The women, who carried all the 
water used in the waterless town, had of course to 
conform to the same rule. Like most men who are 
constantly exposed to danger, the shepherds became 
careless or foolhardy, and wandered rather far with 
their herds. Osman was too astute to neglect his 
opportunities. On this occasion an old shepherd, who 
was well known at Sphinx Redoubt, had strayed too 
far. The Soudanese swept down, cut off his retreat, 
killed him, and, as we have said, carried off his cattle. 

It was to retrieve, if possible, or avenge this 
disaster that the Egyptian cavalry sallied forth. 
They were seen galloping after the foe when Miles 
reached the roof of the redoubt, where some of his 
comrades were oH duty, while Captain Lacey and 
several officers were looking on with field-glasses. 

“They are too late, I fear, to do much good,” 
remarked one of the officers. 

“Don’t I wish I was goin’ wid them !” whispered 
Corporal Elynn to a comrade. 

“Ye wad be a queer objec’ on the ootside o’ a 
horse,” remarked MacLeod cynically. 

“ Why, Mac, ye wouldn’t have me go inside of a 
horse, would ye ?” 

“ It wad be much the same which way ye went,” 
returned the Scot. 




202 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Ah, thin, the horse wouldn’t think so, unless he 
was a donkey!” 

“Well done!” exclaimed Captain Lacey at that 
moment, as the cavalry cut off and succeeded in 
recapturing a few of the cattle, and gave the enemy 
several volleys, which caused them to beat a hasty 
retreat. This, however, turned out to be a ruse on 
the part of Osman, who had his men concealed in 
strong force there. He tried to draw the cavalry 
away from Suakim, and was very nearly successful. 
In the ardour of pursuit the Egyptians failed to 
observe that the Soudanese were creeping round 
their rear to cut off retreat. On discovering their 
mistake, and finding that their small force of two 
hundred men was being surrounded by thousands of 
Arab warriors, it was almost too late. Turning at 
once, they galloped back, and could be seen, through 
the field-glasses, turning now and then gallantly to 
engage the pursuing foe. 

No help could be rendered them at first, as they 
were beyond the range of all the forts; nevertheless, 
they got in safely, with little injury to man or beast, 
and driving before them the animals that had been 
recovered. 

Next day the body of the poor old shepherd was 
brought in and buried, without a coffin, by his 
relations. 

Miles, being off duty at the time, went to see the 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


203 


funeral, and found that Eastern and Western ideas 
on this point, as on many others, are wide as the 
poles asunder. No doubt the grief of the near rela¬ 
tions was as real as it was demonstrative, hut it 
required more credulity than he possessed to enable 
him to believe that the howling, shouting, and 
singing of many mourners was indicative of genuine 
feeling. The creation of noise, indeed, seemed to be 
their chief method of paying respect to the dead. 

As deaths in Suakim were very numerous at this 
time, owing to much sickness among natives as well 
as troops, the sounds of mourning, whether by volley 
or voice, became so frequent that orders were at 
last given to cease firing over the soldiers’ graves 
when they were buried. 

Just ahead of the shepherd’s body came some poor 
women, who were weeping, falling down at intervals, 
and kissing the ground. On reaching the wall round 
the land side of the town these women stopped, 
formed a circle, and kneeled on the sand while the 
body was passing them, then they leaned forward 
and kissed the ground, continuing in that position 
till all the procession had passed. There the women 
remained, not being allowed to go to the grave, and 
the singing and shouting were continued by boys, 
who kept running round the bier as it was borne 
along. On reaching the grave the body was put in 
with the face toward the east, and covered up with 




204 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


stones and mortar. Then the grave was filled up 
with sand, a brief prayer was offered—the mourners 
kneeling—after which the people went home. 

Sad thoughts filled the mind of our young soldier 
as he returned to the fort, but the sadness was soon 
turned to indignation when he got there. 

For some time past a Soudanese youth of about 
seventeen or eighteen years of age had been coming 
about the Sphinx Eedoubt and ingratiating himself 
with the men, who took a great fancy to him, because 
he was amiable in disposition, somewhat humorous 
as well as lively, and handsome, though black! 
They used to give him something to eat every time 
he came, and made quite a pet of him. One day 
while he was out in the open country, Osman’s men 
captured this youth and took him at once before 
their leader, who, probably regarding him as a 
deserter, ordered both his hands to be cut off close 
to the wrists. The cruel deed was done, and the 
poor lad was sent back to Suakim. It was this that 
roused the wrath of Miles as well as that of his 
comrades. When they saw the raw stumps and the 
haggard look of the poor fellow, who had suffered 
much from loss of blood, they got into a state of 
mind that would have made them ready to sally 
forth, if so required, and assault the entire Soudan 
in arms! 

“ Och! av I only had *im here,” said Flynn, 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN, 


205 


clenching his teeth and fists at the same time. “ It’s 
—it’s—it’s-■” 

“ Mince-meat yon’d make of him / 5 said Moses. 

“ ISTo—it’s cat’s mate—the baste! ” 

The others were equally angry, though not quite 
so emphatic, but they did not waste their time in 
useless regrets. They hurried the young Soudanese 
to the doctor, who carefully dressed his wounds, and 
every care was thereafter taken of him by the men, 
until completely restored to health. 

It may interest the reader to know that this poor 
fellow was afterwards well looked after; Some sort 
of employment in the garrison was obtained for him, 
and he was found to be a useful and willing servant, 
despite the absence of his hands. 

That night a furious sand-storm burst upon the 
town, accompanied by oppressive heat. 

“ It always seems to me,” said Miles to Gaspard 
Kedgrave, who lay next him, “ that moskitoes and 
sandflies, cats and dogs, and in fact the whole brute 
creation, becomes more lively when the weather is 
unusually hot. Just listen to these cats ! ” 

“ Like a colony of small children being murdered,” 
said Gaspard. 

“It's awfu’,” observed Saunders, in a kind of 
solemn astonishment as a frightful caterwaul burst 
upon their ears. “ I wadna like to hear teegers in 
the same state o’ mind.” 




206 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Or elephants,” murmured Moses Pyne, who was 
more than half asleep. 

The cats were indeed a great nuisance, for, not 
satisfied with getting on the flat roofs of the houses 
at nights, and keeping up a species of war-dance 
there, they invaded the soldiers’ quarters, upsetting 
things in the dark—thus demonstrating the absur¬ 
dity of the proverb that cats see best in the dark— 
stealing whatever they could lay hold of, and in¬ 
ducing half-slumbering men to fling boots and 
shoes, or whatever came most handy, at them. 

Eats also were innumerable, and, to the great 
surprise—not to say indignation—of the men, neither 
dogs nor cats paid the least attention to the rats! 

After a time the storm, both of animate and in¬ 
animate nature, began to abate, and the weary over¬ 
worked soldiers were dropping off to sleep when a 
tremendous explosion effectually roused them. 

“There goes another mine!” cried Armstrong, 
starting up. 

“It don’t require a prophet to tell us that,” growled 
Gaspard, as he yawned and slowly picked up his 
rifle. 

Explosions were of quite common occurrence at 
that time, but had to be attended to neverthe¬ 
less. 

That Osman had taken advantage of the very dark 
night to make an earlier attack than usual was 









HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


207 


evident, for shots were fired immediately after the 
explosion occurred, as usual. These were replied to, 
but the effect of the explosion, it was supposed, must 
have been unusually severe, for the enemy withdrew 
after exchanging only a few shots. 

This surmise was afterwards proved to be correct. 
On going to the spot the following morning, they 
found that at least a dozen of their foes must have 
been blown up, for legs and arms and other human 
remains were picked up in all directions. These the 
soldiers gathered, with the aid of the friendly natives, 
and burned. 

No attack was made for four days after that, but 
then the untiring enemy became as troublesome as 
ever. 

Spies afterwards said that when Osman heard of 
this incident, and of the number of men killed, he 
said “ it served them right. They had no business 
to go touching things that did not belong to them!” 



208 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTER XV. 

ATHLETICS—A NEW ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP—AN EXPEDITION 
UNDERTAKEN, FOLLOWED BY A RACE FOR LIFE. 

Energetic and exhilarating exercise has some¬ 
times the effect of driving away sickness which 
doctors’ stuff and treatment fail to cope with 
successfully. In saying this we intend no slight 
either to doctors’ stuff or treatment! 

After the troops had been some time at Suakim 
the effect of the climate began to tell on them so 
severely that a very large proportion of Europeans 
were in hospital, and many who strove hard to 
brave it out were scarcely fit for duty. 

Great heat did not, however, interfere with Miles 
Milton’s health. He was one of those fortunates 
who seem to have been made of tougher clay than 
the average of humanity. But his friend Armstrong 
was laid up for a considerable time. Even Robert 
MacLeod was knocked over for a brief period, and 
the lively Corporal Flynn succumbed at last. Moses 
Pyne, however, stood the test of hard work and bad 




HOT WOKK IN THE SOUDAN. 


209 


climate well, and so, for a time, did Sergeant Hardy. 
It was found generally that the abstainers from 
strong drink suffered less from bad health and un¬ 
wholesome surroundings than their fellows, and as 
there were a good many in the regiment, who were 
constantly endeavouring to convince their comrades 
of the advantages of total abstinence, things were 
not so bad as they might have been. 

It was about this time that one of the generals 
who visited Suakim instituted athletic games, there¬ 
by vastly improving the health and spirits of the 
men. And now Miles Milton learned, for the first 
time, what an immense power there lies in “ scien¬ 
tific training ”! 

One evening, when out walking with Stevenson, 
he took it into his head to race with him, and, 
having been a crack runner at school, he beat him 
easily. 

“Why, Miles,” said his friend, when the short 
race was over, “ I had no idea you could run 
so well. If you choose I will put you in 
training for the coming sports. You must know 
that I have run and walked and competed in the 
track many a time at home, and have trained and 
brought out runners who had no notion of what 
was in them till I proved it to them by training. 
Will you go in for it, and promise to do as I bid 
you?” 


o 







210 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


“ I have no objection/’ replied Miles, with a light 
laugh. 

If he had known what his friend intended to do 
he might not have agreed so readily, for, from that 
hour till the day of the sports, Stevenson made him 
go through an amount of running—even after being 
made stiff by previous runs—that he would never 
have agreed to undertake unless forced to do so. 
We say forced, because our hero regarded a promise 
once given as sacred. His was a curiously compound 
nature, so that while in some points of conduct he 
was lax—as we have seen—in others he was very 
strict. He was peculiarly so in regard to promises. 
His comrades soon came to know this, and ulti¬ 
mately came to consider him a very reliable man. 

Having, then, promised his friend to keep sternly 
to his work, he did so, with the result that his 
strength increased wonderfully. Another result 
was that he carried off the first prize in all the races. 

In order to make the most of time and avoid the 
evils of noonday heat, it was arranged that the races, 
etc., for the Egyptian soldiers and natives in Govern¬ 
ment employ should come off in the morning, and 
that the British troops should run in the later and 
cooler parts of the day. With the temperature at 
120° in the shade it would have been dangerous for 
Europeans to compete. The sports, including our 
familiar cricket, were greatly enjoyed, and the 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


211 


result was a decided improvement in the health of 
the whole force. 

Boat-races were also included in these sports. At 
the conclusion of one of these, Miles, to his great 
surprise, encountered his old acquaintance of the 
Sailors' Welcome , big Jack Molloy. 

“ Why, Jack! ” exclaimed Miles, as the hearty 
tar wrung his hand, “ who’d have expected to see 
you here ? ” 

“ Ah, who indeed ? an’ I may say ditto.” 

“ I’m very glad to see you, Molloy, for, to say 
truth, I thought I had seen the last of you when we 
parted in the troop-ship. I’ve often thought of you 
since, and of our first evening together in the—the 
—what was its name ? ” 

“ The Sailors' Welcome —man alive ! I wonder 
you Ve forgot it. Blessin’s on it! I ain’t likely to 
forget it. Why, it was there (did I ever tell you ?) 
the wery night arter I met you, that a messmate 
took me to the big hall, back o’ the readin’-room. 
It’s no use me tryin’ fur to tell you all I heard in 
that there big hall, but when I come out—blow’d if 
I didn’t sign the pledge right away, an’ I ain’t took 
a drop o’ grog since! ” 

“Glad to hear it, Jack, for, to say truth, I never 
saw the evil of grog so clearly as I have since coming 
out here and seeing strong stout men cast down by 
it in dozens,—many of them kind-hearted, right- 



212 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


thinking men, whom I would have thought safe 
from such a thing. Indeed I have more than half 
a mind to join the Good Templars myself.” 

“ Young man,” said Molloy, sternly, “ if it takes 
the death of dozens o’ stout kind-hearted men to 
force you to make up half your mind, how many 
d’ee want to die before you make up the whole of it?” 

“But I said that my mind was more than half 
made up,” returned Miles, with a smile. 

“Now lookee here,” rejoined the sailor earnestly, 
“it’s all wery well for milksops an’ nincompoops 
and landlubbers to go in for half-an’-half work like 
that, but you ’re not the man I takes you for if you 
ain’t game for more than that, so I ax you to promise 
me that you ’ll sign the pledge right off, as I did, first 
time you gits the chance.” 

“But you forget I’m only a landlubber who, 
according to you, is fit for only half-an'-half mea¬ 
sures,” said Miles, who, not being addicted to much 
wine, felt disinclined to bind himself. 

“ No matter,” returned the sailor, with deepening 
earnestness, “ if you go in fur it you ’ll never repent 
it! Take my word for that. Now, I ax ye to 
promise.” 

“Well, I do promise—the very first time I get 
the chance; and that will be to-morrow night, for 
our new parson has started temperance meetings, 
and he is a great teetotaller.” 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


213 


“An’ you promise to stick to it ?” added Molloy. 

“ When I give a promise I always stick to it! ” 
returned Miles gravely. 

“ Right you are, lad. Give us your flipper ! ” 

The foregoing conversation took place at the 
harbour, a little apart from the noisy group of 
soldiers and sailors who were discussing the circum¬ 
stances of the recent boat-race. 

Immediately after it Molloy returned to his ship 
in the harbour, and our hero to his post in the line 
of defence. 

One of those who had been conspicuous that day 
in arranging and starting the races, acting as 
umpire at the cricket, and, generally, putting heart 
and spirit into everything by his quiet good-nature 
and self-denying activity, was the young officer of 
Engineers, who has been already mentioned as the 
manager of the mines that were laid around 
Suakim. Poor fellow! little did he imagine that 
that was to be his last day on earth! 

Every morning, as before mentioned, this young 
officer went out alone to perform the dangerous 
work of disconnecting the mines, so that the in¬ 
habitants of the town might go out and in and 
move about during the day-time in safety. Again, 
a little before sunset every evening, he went out 
and reconnected them, so that the enemy could not 
approach the place without the risk of being blown 





214 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


to pieces. At the same time the gates were closed, 
and no one was allowed to leave or enter the town. 

On this particular evening the lieutenant went 
out as usual on his dangerous mission just after six 
o’clock. He had not been long gone when a loud 
explosion was heard, and a cloud of smoke was seen 
where one of the mines had been laid down. A 
party at once sallied out, and found, as they had 
feared, that the brave young fellow had perished: 
He had been literally blown to pieces, his head 
being found in one place, while other portions of his 
body were scattered around. 

This melancholy incident cast a gloom over the 
whole place. The remains of the heroic young 
engineer were buried next day with military 
honours. The garrison was not, however, left long 
in peace to think over his sad fate, for the very next 
night a determined attack was made all along the 
line. The annoying persistency of these attacks 
seemed to have stirred the indignation of the 
general in command, for he ordered out a small 
force of cavalry to carry the war into the enemy’s 
country. 

Critics say that this act was ill advised, and that 
the cavalry should not have been despatched with¬ 
out the support of infantry. Critics are not always 
or necessarily right. Indeed, we may venture to 
say that they are often wrong ! We do not pretend 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


215 


to judge, but, be this as it may, the cavalry was 
ordered to destroy the village of Handoub about 
fifteen miles inland on the caravan route to Berber, 
and to blow up the enemy’s magazine there. 

The force consisted of a troop of the 19 th Hussars, 
and another of Egyptian cavalry—about fifty 
men all told—under command of Captain Apthorp. 
Our intemperate friend Johnson was one of the 
little band. He was sober then, however, as he sat 
bolt upright on his powerful steed, with a very stern 
and grave visage, for he had a strong impression 
that the duty before them was no child’s-play. 

A four hours’ ride brought them to the village. 
The few Arabs who dwelt in it fled at once on their 
approach, and in a very short time the place was 
effectually destroyed, along with a large quantity of 
ammunition. 

But no sooner had the soldiers finished the work, 
and begun to prepare for their return, than they 
discovered that a large force of the enemy was 
assembling to cut off their retreat. 

Ho time for thought after that! At least six 
thousand of the foe, having heard of the expedition, 
had crept down through the thick bush from the 
direction of Hasheen, thirsting for vengeance. Two 
miles on the Suakim side of Handoub they formed a 
line and opened fire on the leading cavalry scouts. 

Seeing that the Arabs were in such force, Captain 




216 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Apthorp at once made for their flank, in the direc¬ 
tion of the sea-coast. At full speed, with horses 
fatigued by a fifteen miles’journey, they had to ride 
for life. It was neck or nothing now! The 
Egyptian cavalry, under Captain Gregory, and 
accompanied by Captain Stopford ‘of the Grenadier 
Guards and other officers, followed closely. 

As they went along at racing speed, with more 
than a dozen miles of wilderness to traverse, and 
death behind them, Private King of the Hussars 
fell from his horse wounded. Captain Gregory 
came up with him, stopped, and took the wounded 
man up behind him. It was a generous but 
desperate act, for what could be expected of a 
double-weighted horse in such a region and with 
such a race before it ? 

For about half a mile he carried the wounded 
trooper, who then swooned and fell off, dragging the 
captain along with him, the freed horse rejoining 
its troop, while the Arabs came yelling on not a 
hundred and fifty yards behind. 

There would have been but little chance for 
Captain Gregory at that terrrible crisis if self- 
denying courage equal to his own had not dwelt in 
the breast of Private Baker of the Hussars. Seeing 
what had occurred, this hero coolly rode back, took 
the captain up behind him* and, regaining his 
* See Frontispiece. 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


217 


troop, enabled the latter to capture and remount 
his own steed. Of course poor King—whether 
dead or alive they could not tell—had to he left to 
his fate. 

Heroism would seem to feed upon itself and 
multiply, for this same Private Baker, soon after¬ 
wards, saw two more dismounted troopers, and 
shouted to a comrade to turn back with him to 
their rescue. The comrade, however, did not see his 
way to do so. Perchance he did not hear! Any¬ 
how he galloped on, but Captain Gregory hearing 
the summons, at. once answered it, turned, and 
galloped back with Baker. 

They were only just in time to take up and 
rescue the two men. At the same time Captain 
Stopford performed a similar gallant act in rescuing 
a dismounted trooper. 

It is deeds of Self-sacrifice and heroism such as 
these—not the storming of a breach, or the fighting 
against overwhelming odds—that bring out the 
noblest qualities of our soldiers, and arouse the 
admiration of mankind! 

The race for life was so close run that when the 
force at last reached the sea-shore it was little more 
than sixty yards in advance of the foe, and so ex¬ 
hausted were the horses that eight of them fell, and 
their riders were captured—four being Englishmen 
and four Egyptians. It is right to add that one of 



218 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


the Egyptians also displayed conspicuous courage in 
rescuing a comrade. 

While these stirring incidents were taking place 
on the plain, Miles and some of his comrades were 
seated on the roof of the redoubt, looking out 
anxiously for the return of the cavalry. At last, in 
the afternoon, a cloud of dust was seen on the 
horizon, and the officers who had glasses could soon 
make out that the men appeared to be racing 
towards the town at full speed, while the enemy, on 
camels and horses, and on foot, were racing down to 
the sea to cut off their retreat. 

No sooner was this understood than our men rose 
with an uncontrollable burst, seized their rifles, flung 
on ammunition-belts, and rushed out to the rescue, 
regardless for the moment of the officers shouting to 
them to come back. The news spread like wild¬ 
fire, and the men ran out just as they were—some in 
white jackets, some in red, others in blue; many in 
their shirts, with their sleeves rolled up; cavalry, 
artillery, marines, infantry—all going helter-skelter 
towards the ememy.' Fortunately they saw from 
the ships what was going on, and quickly got their 
guns to bear, so that the moment our men had 
escaped clear of the enemy they opened fire. But 
for this more men would certainly have been lost, 
for the overtaxed horses were beginning to give in 
and lose ground Had they been a few minutes 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


219 


later in reaching the sea, it is probable that not a 
man of that force would have returned to Suakim. 

As it was, the men came in pale and terribly 
fatigued. The horses could scarcely walk, and two 
of them died on the following day. 




220 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTEE XVI. 

LETTERS FROM HOME—FLYNN IS EXALTED AND BROUGHT LOW- 
RUMOURS OF WAR IN THE AIR. 

Events in life sometimes ripple along like the 
waters of a little stream in summer. At other times 
they rush with the wild impetuosity of a hill-torrent 
in winter. 

For some time after the incidents just narrated the 
life of our hero rippled—but of course it must he 
clearly understood that a Suakim ripple bore some 
resemblance to a respectable freshet elsewhere! 
Osman Digna either waited for reinforcements before 
delivering a grand assault, or found sufficient enter¬ 
tainment to his mind, and satisfaction to his ambi¬ 
tion, in acting the part of a moskito, by almost 
nightly harassment of the garrison, which was thus 
kept continually on the alert. 

But there came a time at length when a change 
occurred in the soldier life at Suakim. Events 
began to evolve themselves in rapid succession, as 
well as in magnified intensity, until, on one parti- 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


221 


cular day, there came—metaphorically speaking— 
what is known among the Scottish hills as a spate. 

It began with the arrival of a mail from England. 
This was not indeed a matter of rare occurrence, but 
it was one of those incidents of the campaign which 
never lost its freshness, and always sent a thrill of 
pleasure to the hearts of the men—powerfully in 
the case of those who received letters and packets; 
sympathetically in those who got none. 

“ At long last! ” exclaimed Corporal Flynn, who 
was observed by his comrades, after the delivery of 
the mail, to be tenderly struggling with the compli¬ 
cated folds of a remarkable letter—remarkable for 
its crookedness, size, dirt, and hieroglyphic super¬ 
scription. 

“ What is it, Flynn ? ” asked Moses—one of the 
unfortunates who had received no letter by that 
mail. 

“ A letter, sure. Haven’t ye got eyes, Moses ? ” 

“ From your wife, corporal ? ” 

“ Wife!” exclaimed Flynn, with scorn; “no ! It’s 
mesilf wouldn’t take the gift of a wife gratis. The 
letter is from me owld grandmother, an’ she’s better 
to me than a dozen wives rowled into wan. It’s 
hard work the writin’ of it cost her too—poor owld 
sowl! But she’d tear her eyes out to plaze me, she 
would. ‘ Corporal, darlint ’—that’s always the way 
she begins her letters now; she’s that proud o’ me 



222 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


since I got the stripes. I thowt me mother or 
brother would have writ me too, but they ’re not 
half as proud o’ me as my-” 

“ Shut up, Flynn!” cried one of the men, who was 
trying to decipher a letter, the penmanship of which 
was obviously the work of an unaccustomed hand. 

“ Howld it upside down; sometimes they ’re 
easier to read that way—more sinsible-like,” re¬ 
torted the corporal. 

“ Blessin’s on your sweet face! ” exclaimed 
Armstrong, looking at a photograph which he had 
just extracted from his letter. 

“ Hallo, Bill! that your sweetheart ? ” asked 
Sergeant Hardy, who was busy untying a parcel. 

“Ay, sweetheart an’ wife too,” answered the 
young soldier, with animation. 

“ Let me see it, Willie,” said Miles, who was also 
one of the disconsolate non-receivers—disconsolate 
because he had fully expected a reply to the peni¬ 
tent letter which he had written to his mother. 

“First-rate, that’s Emmy to a tee. A splendid 
likeness! ” exclaimed Miles, holding the photograph 
to the light. 

“Arrah! then, it’s dead he must be !” 

The extreme perplexity displayed in Flynn’s face 
as he said this and scratched his head produced a 
hearty laugh. 

“ It’s no laughin’ matter, boys,” cried the corporal 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


223 


looking up with an expression so solemn that his 
comrades almost believed it to he genuine. “There’s 
my owld uncle MacGrath gone to his long home, 
an’ he was the support o’ me grandmother. Och! 
what ’ll she do now wid him gone an’ me away at 
the wars ? ” 

“Won’t some other relation look after her, Flynn?” 
suggested Moses. 

“Other relation!” exclaimed the corporal; “I’ve 
got no other relations, an’ them that I have are as 
poor as rats. No, uncle MacGrath was the only wan 
wid a kind heart an’ a big purse. You see, hoys, he 
was rich—for an Irishman. He had a grand farm, 
an’ a beautiful bit o’ bog. Och! it’ll go hard 
wid-” 

“ Eead on, Flynn, and hold your tongue,” cried one 
of his comrades; “ p’r’aps he’s left the old woman a 
legacy.” 

The corporal did read on, and during the perusal 
of the letter the change in his visage was marvellous, 
exhibiting as it did an almost magical transition 
from profound woe, through abrupt gradations of 
surprise, to intense joy. 

“ Hooray ! ” he shouted, leaping up and bestow¬ 
ing a vigorous slap on his thigh. “ He’s gone an’ 
left the whole farm an’ the beautiful bog to me ! ” 

“ What hae ye got there, sergeant ? ” asked 
Saunders, refolding the letter he had been quietly 





224 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


perusing without paying any regard to the Irish¬ 
man’s good news. 

“A parcel of booklets from the Institute,” an¬ 
swered Hardy, turning over the leaves of one of 
the pamphlets. “ Ain’t it good of ’em ? ” 

“ Right you are, Hardy! The ladies there never 
forget us,” said Moses Pyne. “ Hand ’em round, 
sergeant. It does a fellow’s heart good to get a hit 
o’ readin’ in an out-o’-the-way place like this.” 

“ Comes like light in a dark place, don’t it, com¬ 
rade ? ” said Stevenson, the marine, who paid them 
a visit at that moment, bringing a letter which had 
been carried to the wrong quarter by mistake. It 
was for Miles Milton. “I know’d you expected 
it, an’ would be awfully disappointed at finding 
nothing, so I brought it over at once.” 

“ You come like a gleam of sunshine in a dark 
place. Thanks, Stevenson, many thanks,” said Miles, 
springing up and opening the letter eagerly. 

The first words sent a chill to his heart, for it told 
of his father having been very ill, but words of com¬ 
fort immediately followed—he was getting slowly 
but surely better, and his own letter had done the 
old man more good in a few days than all the 
doctor’s physic had done in many weeks. For¬ 
giveness was freely granted, and unalterable love 
breathed in every line. With a relieved and thank¬ 
ful heart he went on reading, when he was arrested 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


225 


by a sudden summons of his company to fall in. 
Grasping his rifle he ran out with the rest. 

“ What is it ?” he whispered to a sergeant, as he 
took his place in the ranks. “ Osman again ? ” 

“No, he’s too sly a fox to show face in the day¬ 
time. It’s a steamer coming with troops aboard. 
We’re goin’ down to receive them, I believe.” 

Soon after, the overworked garrison had the 
immense satisfaction and excitement of bidding wel¬ 
come to reinforcements with a stirring British cheer. 

These formed only the advance-guard. For some 
time after that troops were landed at Suakim every 
day. Among them the 15th Sikhs, a splendid 
body of men, with grand physique and fierce aspect, 
like men who “ meant business.” Then came the 
Coldstream Guards, the Scots and the Grenadier 
Guards,' closely followed by the Engineers and 
Hospital and Transport Corps, the Shropshire 
Regiment, and many others. The desire of these 
fresh troops to meet the enemy was naturally strong, 
and the earnest hope of every one was that they 
would soon sally forth and “have a go,” as Cor¬ 
poral Flynn expressed it, “ at Osman Digna on his 
own ground.” 

Poor Corporal Flynn ! His days of soldiering 
were nearly over! 

Whether it was the excess of strong feeling raised 
in the poor fellow’s breast by the news of the 
p 





226 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


grand and unexpected legacy, or the excitement 
caused by the arrival of so many splendid troops and 
the prospect of immediate action—or all put together 
—we cannot say, hut certain it is that the corporal 
fell sick, and when the doctors examined the men 
with a view to decide who should march to the 
front, and who should remain to guard the town, 
he was pronounced unfit for active service. Worse 
than that, he was reported to have entered upon that 
journey from which no traveller returns. 

But poor Flynn would not admit it, though he 
grew weaker from day to day. At last it was 
reported that he was dying, and Sergeant Hardy 
got leave to go off to the hospital ship to see him, 
and convey to him many a kind message from his 
sorrowful comrades, who felt that the regiment 
could ill spare his lively, humorous spirit. 

The sergeant found him the picture of death, 
and almost too weak to speak. 

“ My dear fellow,” said Hardy, sitting down by 
his cot and gently taking his hand, “ I’m sorry to see 
you like this. I’m afraid you are goin’ to leave us.” 

The corporal made a slight motion with his head, 
as if of dissent, and his lips moved. 

Hardy bent his ear over them. 

“ Niver a bit, owld man,” whispered Flynn. 

“Shall I read the Bible to you, lad?” inquired 
the sergeant. 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


227 


The corporal smiled faintly, and nodded. 

After reading a few verses Hardy began to talk 
kindly and earnestly to the dying man, who lay 
with his eyes closed. 

When he was about to leave, Flynn looked up, 
and, giving his comrade’s hand a gentle squeeze, 
said, in a stronger whisper than before— 

“Thankee, sergeant. It’s kind o’ ye to be so 
consarned about my sowl, and I agrees wid ivery 
word ye say; but I’m not goin’ away yit, av ye 
plaze.” 

He ceased to speak, and again closed his eyes. 
The doctor and the chaplain chanced to enter the 
hospital together as Hardy retired. The result of 
their visit was that they said the corporal was 
dead, and orders were given to make his coffin. A 
firing party was also told off to bury him the next 
morning with military honours. Early next morn¬ 
ing, accordingly, the firing party started for the 
hospital ship with the coffin, but, before getting 
half-way to it, they were signalled to go back, for 
the man was not yet dead! 

In short, Corporal Flynn had begun to talk in a 
wild way about his estate in Ireland, and his owld 
grandmother; and either the influence of these 
thoughts, or Hardy’s visit, had given him such a 
fillip that from that day he began to revive. 
Nevertheless he had received a very severe shake, 







228 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


and, not very long after, was invalided home. 
Meanwhile, as we have said, busy preparations were 
being made by General Graham—who had arrived 
and taken command of the forces—to offer battle 
to Osman’s troops. 

In the midst of all the excitement and turmoil, 
however, the new chaplain, who turned out to be 
“ a trump,” managed to hold a temperance meeting; 
and the men who desired to serve God as well as 
their Queen and country became more energetic 
than ever in trying to influence their fellows and 
save themselves from the curse of strong drink, 
which had already played such havoc among the 
troops at Suakim. 

Miles attended the meeting, and, according to 
promise, signed the total abstinence pledge. Owing 
to the postponement of meetings and the press of 
duty he had not been able to do it sooner. 

Shortly after that he was passed by the doctors 
as fit for duty in the field. So were Armstrong, 
Moses Pyne, and most of those strong and healthy 
men whose fortunes we have followed thus far. 

Then came the bustle and excitement of prepara¬ 
tion to go out and attack the enemy, and in the 
midst of it all the air was full of conflicting 
rumours—to the effect that Osman Digna was 
about to surrender unconditionally; that he would 
attack the town in force; that he was dead; or that 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


229 


lie had been summoned to a conference by the 
Mahdi! 

“You may rest assured/’ said Sergeant Hardy 
one day to his comrades, as they were smoking their 
pipes after dinner, “ that nobody knows anything at 
all for certain about the rebel chief.” 

“ I heard that a spy has just come in with the 
information that he has determined not to wait for 
our attack, if we go out, but to attack us in our 
zereba,” said Miles. “ He is evidently resolved not 
to commit the same mistake he made last year of 
letting us attack him .” 

“ He has pluck for anything,” remarked Moses. 

Osman proved, that same evening, that he had at 
least pluck enough to send a pithy defiance to his 
foes, for an insulting letter was received by General 
Graham, in which Osman, recounting the victories 
he had gained over Hicks and Baker Pasha, boasted 
of his having destroyed their armies, and dared 
the general to come out and fight him. To this the 
British General replied, reminding Osman of our 
victories of El-Teb and Tamai, and advising him to 
surrender unless he wanted a worse beating than he 
had got before ! 

Mutual defiance having been thus comfortably 
hurled, the troops were at once detailed for service 
in the field, and the very next day set forth. As 
our hero did not, however, accompany that ex- 





230 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


pedition, and as it returned to Suakim without 
doing anything remarkable—except some energetic 
and even heroic fighting, which is by no means 
remarkable in British troops,—we will pass on to 
the expedition which was sent out immediately 
after it, and in which Miles Milton not only took 
an active part, but distinguished himself. With 
several of his comrades he also entered on a new 
and somewhat unusual phase of a soldier’s career. 




HOT WOEK IN THE SOUDAN. 


231 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE EXPEDITION—ENEMY REPORTED—MILES IN A DILEMMA. 

Every one has heard of the expedition, sent out 
under Sir John M‘Neill, in which that gallant 
general and his brave troops fought with indomit¬ 
able heroism, not only against courageous foes, but 
against errors which, as a civilian, we will not pre¬ 
sume to criticise, and against local difficulties which 
were said to be absolutely insurmountable. 

Blame was due somewhere in connection with 
that expedition. Wherever it lay, we have a strong 
conviction—founded on the opinion of one who was 
present—that it did not rest with the commander 
of the force. It is not, however, our part to comment, 
but to describe those events which bore upon the 
fortunes of our hero and his immediate friends and 
comrades. 

It was about four o’clock on an uncommonly hot 
morning that the bugle sounded in Suakim, and 
soon the place was alive with men of all arms, 
devouring a hasty breakfast and mustering eagerly, 





232 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


for they were elated at the near prospect of having 
“ another slap at Osman ! ” 

Strange, the unaccountably exultant joy which 
so many men experience at the prospect of killing 
each other! No doubt the Briton maintains that 
it is all in defence of Queen and country, hearth 
and home. An excellent reason, of course! But 
may not the Soudanese claim that the defence of 
chief and country, tent and home, is an equally good 
reason—especially when he rises to defend himself 
from the exactions and cruelty of those superlative 
tyrants, the Turks, or rather, the Turkish Pashas ?— 
for we verily believe that the rank and file of all 
civilised nations would gladly live at peace if their 
rulers would deal in arbitration instead of war! 
We almost feel that an apology is due for intro¬ 
ducing such>a remark in a book about soldiers, for 
their duty is clear as well as hstrd, and bravely 
is it done too. Moreover, they are in no way 
responsible for the deeds of those 

“Fine old English gentlemen 
Who sit at home at ease, 

And send them forth to fight and die 
Beyond the stormy seas ! ” 

The troops composing this expedition consisted of 
one squadron of the 5th Lancers, one battalion Berk¬ 
shire Begiment, battalion of Marines, one Field 
Company Royal Engineers, a detachment of the 
Royal Navy in charge of four Gardner guns, a regi- 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


233 


ment of Sikhs, Bengal Native Infantry, Bombay 
Native Infantry, and a body of Madras Sappers. 
Along with these was sent an immense convoy of 
1500 camels, besides a large number of mules with 
carts hearing iron water-tanks. 

The orders for the expedition were that they 
should proceed eight miles into the bush, and there 
make three zerebas, or defensive enclosures of bushes, 
capable of sheltering the entire force. 

The march was begun by M‘Neill moving off 
with his European troops in square formation. 
The Indian contingent, under General Hudson, 
followed, also in square, and in charge of the trans¬ 
port. 

“ A goodly force! ” remarked Armstrong, in a low 
tone to Miles, as they stepped off, shoulder to 
shoulder, for, being both about the same size, and 
unusually tall, they marched together on the right 
flank of their company. 

“Don’t speak in the ranks, Willie,” returned Miles, 
with a slight smile, for he could not shut his eyes to 
the fact that this strict regard for orders was due 
more to Marion Drew’s remarks about a soldier’s 
duty than to principle. 

“ H’m! ” grunted Bobert MacLeod, who marched 
next to them, and had no conscientious scruples 
about talking, “ we may mairch oot smert eneugh, 
but some o’ us ’ll no’ come back sae hearty.” 




234 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Some of us will never come back at all,” replied 
Armstrong, gravely. 

By six o’clock the rear-guard had left Suakim, and 
the whole of the force moved across the plain, in 
parts of which the men and carts sank deep in the 
soft sand, while in other parts the formations were 
partly broken by thick bush, in which the force be¬ 
came somewhat entangled. The cavalry went in 
advance as scouts. The guns, water-carts, and am¬ 
munition-wagons were in the centre, and the 
Indian Brigade came last, surrounding the unwieldy 
mass of baggage-animals. Last of all came the tele¬ 
graph detachment, unrolling as they went the wire 
that kept open communication with head-quarters. 

That a mistake had been made somewhere was 
obvious; but as the soul of military discipline is 
obedience without question, the gallant leader 
pressed forward, silently and steadily, whatever he 
may have thought. 

Soon the force became so hopelessly entangled in 
the difficulties of the way, that the rate of advance 
dwindled down to little more than one mile an 
hour. 

Not long after starting a trooper was seen galloping 
back, and Miles, who marched at the right corner of 
his square, observed that it was his friend Johnson, 
looking very stern indeed. Their eyes met. 

“ Not half enough of cavalry,” he growled, as he 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


235 


flew past to report “ The enemy in sight—retiring 
in small parties in the direction of Tamai.” 

In returning, Johnson again rode close past the 
same corner of the square, and, bending low in his 
saddle for a moment, said to Miles, “ I have signed 
the pledge, my boy.” 

A slight laugh from several of those who heard 
him greeted the information, but he probably did 
not hear it, for next moment his charger cleared a 
low bush in a magnificent stride, and in a few seconds 
man and horse were lost to sight in the bush. 

“ More need to sign his will,” remarked Simkin, 
in a somewhat cynical tone. 

“He has done that too,” said Armstrong. “I 
heard him say so before we started.” 

The troops were halted to enable the two generals 
to consult at this point. 

While the men stood at ease, enjoying the brief 
rest from severe toil under such a burning sun, our 
hero heard a low voice at his elbow say— 

“ Have you signed your will, John Miles ? ” 

It was a startling, as well as a sudden, question! 
Miles turned quickly and found that it was Captain 
Lacey who had put it. 

The feeling of dislike with which our young 
soldier had regarded the captain ever since his in¬ 
terruption of the conversation between himself 
and Marion, on board ship, had abated, but had 





236 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


not by any means disappeared. He had too much 
sense, however, to allow the state of his feelings to 
influence his looks or bearing. 

“ Yes, sir,” he replied ; “ I made it out last night, 
as you advised me, in the service form. It was 
witnessed by our colonel and Captain Smart and 
the doctor. To say truth, I thought it absurd for a 
man who has nothing to leave to make his will, but 
as you said, sir, I should like my dear mother to get 
my kit and any arrears of pay that may be due to 
me after I’m gone.” 

“ I did not mean you to take such a gloomy view 
of your prospects,” said Captain Lacey, with a laugh. 
“ But you know in our profession we always carry 
our lives in our hands, and it would be foolish not 
to take ordinary precautions-” 

The order to resume the march here cut short the 
conversation, and the force continued its slow and 
all but impossible advance. Indeed it was soon 
seen that to reach the distance of eight miles out, in 
the circumstances, was quite beyond the power of 
the troops, willing, anxious, and vigorous though 
they were, for the bush became closer and higher as 
they advanced, so that a mounted man could not see 
over it, and so dense that the squares, though only 
a short distance apart, could not see each other. 
This state of things rendered the management of 
the baggage-animals extremely difficult, for mules 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


237 


are proverbially intractable, and camels—so meek 
in pictures !—are perhaps the most snarling, biting, 
kicking, ill-tempered animals in the world. 

The day was advancing and the heat increasing, 
while the dust raised by the passage of such a host 
caused so much- distress to man and beast that the 
general began to fear that, if an attack should be 
made by the enemy at that time, the greater part 
of the transport would have to be sacrificed. The 
force was therefore halted a second time, and the 
generals again met to consult. 

They were very unwilling to give in. Another 
effort to advance was made, but things grew worse 
and worse. The day, as Moses remarked, was boil¬ 
ing red-hot! The carts with the heavy water-tanks 
sank deep in the soft sand; many of the camels’ 
loads fell off, and these had to be replaced. Eeplacing 
a camel’s load implies prevailing on a hideously tall 
and horribly stubborn creature to kneel, and this in 
the centre of a square which was already blocked 
up with carts and animals, as well as shouting, angry, 
and exhausted drivers! 

At last it became evident that further progress 
that day was out of the question. The rear face of 
Hudson’s square was obliterated by the straggling 
and struggling multitude; camels and loads were 
down in all directions, and despair of maintaining 
their formation was settling down on all ranks. 





238 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Iii these circumstances it became absolutely 
necessary to halt and form their zerebas where they 
stood—and that without delay. The best place 
they could find was selected. The European square 
formed a guard, while the rest threw off jackets, 
and, with axes and choppers, went to work wdth a 
will. Some cut down bushes, some filled sandbags 
to form a breastwork for guns and ammunition, and 
others erected the bushy walls of their woodland 
fortification. The Lancers covered about three miles 
of country as scouts. Hudson—who had to return 
to Suakim that night before dark—was ordered, with 
three regiments in line and advanced files, to cover 
M'Neill and the working-party, while the commander 
himself went about encouraging the tired men, and 
urging them to increased exertion. 

While the soldiers of all arms were thus busily 
engaged, a body of sailors was ordered to run one of 
their Gardner guns up to the corner of the square 
where Miles and Armstrong stood. They halted 
close to them, and then Miles became aware that 
one of the nautical gunners was no other than Jack 
Molloy. 

“Hallo, Jack! Why, you’ve got a knack of 
turning up unexpectedly everywhere!” he exclaimed, 
when his friend was at leisure. 

“That’s wery much your own case,” retorted the 
seaman heartily. “ What brought you here ?” 







HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


239 


Miles slapped one of his legs by way of indicating 
the mode of conveyance. 

“Ay, lad, and they’d need to he stout timbers 
too, to make headway through such a sea of sand,” 
returned. Molloy, feeling his own limbs with tender¬ 
ness. “ D’ee think we ’re in for a brush to-night, lad ? ” 

Before the latter could reply, an aide-de-camp ran 
up and spoke a few hurried words to Captain Lacey, 
who turned to his company and called them to 
attention. 

“Fours, right—quick march!” he said, and away 
they went, past the flank of Hudson’s men, to guard 
a hollow which left that part of the square some¬ 
what exposed. When halted and drawn up in line 
several files were thrown out in advance. Miles 
and Sutherland formed the flanking file on the 
right, the latter being rear-rank man to the former. 

“ It’s a grand hiding-hole,” observed Sutherland, 
as he peered cautiously over the edge of a low 
bank into a hollow where rocks and undergrowth 
were thickly intermingled. 

“ Keep a sharp look-out on your left, Sutherland,” 
said Miles, “ I will guard the right-” 

He stopped abruptly and threw forward his rifle, 
for at that moment he observed a swarthy, black- 
bearded Arab, of large proportions and muscular 
frame, creeping forward a short distance below him. 
Evidently he had not heard or seen the approach of 




240 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


the two soldiers, for he was gazing in a different 
direction from them. 

Miles raised his rifle and took aim at the man, 
but he felt an unconquerable repugnance to shoot. 
He had never yet met the enemy hand-to-hand. 
His experience heretofore had been confined to long- 
range firing at men who were firing at himself and 
his comrades, and in which, of course, he could not 
be sure that his bullets took effect. But now he 
was within fifty yards of a splendid-looking man who 
did not see him, who was, at the moment, innocent 
of any intention of injuring him, and whose ex¬ 
pressive side-face he could clearly distinguish as he 
crept along with great caution towards a rock which 
hid the zereba of the Europeans from his view. 

Miles was a good rifle-shot. A touch of the 
trigger he knew would be certain death to the 
Arab. 

“ I cannot do it! ” he muttered, as he lowered his 
weapon and looked back over his shoulder at his 
comrade. The Scot, who was something of a 
naturalist, was engrossed at the moment in the 
contemplation of a little bird which was twittering 
on a twig in quite an opposite direction. 

Miles glanced again at the Arab in a flutter of 
agitation as to what was his duty. The man might 
be one of the friendly natives ! He could not tell. 

At that moment another man appeared on the 






HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


241 


scene. He was a thin but powerful native, and 
armed with a short spear, such as is used when 
fighting at close quarters. He obviously was not 
troubled with scruples about committing murder, 
and Miles soon became aware that the thin man was 
“stalking” the big Arab—with what intent, of 
course, our soldier could only guess, but the malig¬ 
nant expression of the savage’s countenance left 
little doubt on that point. 

Here was a complication! Our hero was on the 
point of calling Sutherland from the contemplation 
of his little bird when he saw the thin native pounce 
on the Arab, who was still creeping on hands and 
knees. He turned just in time to divert the first spear- 
thrust, but not in time to draw his own long knife 
from its sheath as he fell. The thin savage holding 
him down, and having him at terrible disadvantage 
on his back, raised his spear, and was about to repeat 
the deadly thrust when Miles fired and shot him in 
the head. 

The Arab rose, shook himself clear of the dying 
man, and, with astounding coolness, walked calmly 
towards a large rock, though Miles was reloading in 
haste, and Sutherland was taking steady aim at him. 
He looked at the soldiers and held up his hand 
with something like a smile of remonstrance, 
as Sutherland pulled the trigger. At the same 
moment Miles struck up the muzzle, and the ball 
Q 



242 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


whizzed over the Arab’s head as he passed behind 
the rock and disappeared. 

“What for did ye that?” demanded the Scot 
fiercely. 

“ Would you kill a man that was smiling at you? " 
retorted Miles. 

The two men ran back to report to their company 
what they had seen. At the same moment, the 
company, being recalled, doubled back to its position 
in the square. 

Here they found the defence work so far advanced 
that the generals were beginning to feel some con¬ 
fidence in their being able to repel any attack. At 
the same time the men were working with tremen¬ 
dous energy, for news had just come in that the 
enemy was advancing in strong force. 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


243 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

"WHEREIN ARE DESCRIBED AN ASSAULT, A FURIOUS FIGHT, AND 
SOME STRANGE PERSONAL ENCOUNTERS. 

It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon when 
Captain Lacey and his company resumed their place 
in the square. 

About that time an officer of the Berkshire 
Regiment represented the condition of his men as 
requiring attention. They certainly did require it, 
for they had been without food since four o’clock 
that morning, and were consequently in urgent need 
of provender as well as rest and water—the last 
having been all consumed. 

As it was imperative that the work should go on, 
it was found necessary to serve out food by wings. 
Accordingly, the men of one half-battalion received 
rations and water, and were then sent to their zereba 
with the Gardner guns, while the other half, still 
lying in reserve by their piled efrms, received their 
rations. 

The marines also sat down for brief rest and re- 



244 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


freshment. Among them was our sedate friend 
Stevenson, who invariably carried his small Bible 
with him in all his campaigns. After quickly con¬ 
suming his allowance, and while waiting for water, 
he sat down to read a few verses of the 23d Psalm, 
—for Stevenson was one of those quiet, fearless men 
who cannot be laughed out of doing right, and who 
have no fear of the face of man, whether scowling 
in anger or sneering in contempt. 

“ Hallo, Tom! ” said a light-hearted comrade near 
him, “ this is a queer time to be readin’ your Bible. 
We’ll be havin’ you sayin’ your prayers next!” 

“ I’ve said them already, Fred,” replied the marine, 
replacing the book in his pouch. “As you say, it is 
a queer time to be readin’ the Word, but not an 
unsuitable time, for this may be the last chance that 
you and I will ever have of readin’ it. Our next 
orders may be to meet God face to face.” 

Stevenson was yet speaking when a Lancer was 
seen approaching at a wild gallop. He dashed up 
to the generals and informed them that the enemy 
was gathering in front. 

The message was barely delivered when another 
Lancer rode up and reported the enemy close at 
hand. 

The order, " Stand to your arms ! ” was promptly 
given and as promptly obeyed, without flurry or 
disorder. 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


245 


Next minute a wild uproar was heard, and the 
Lancers were seen galloping towards the square with 
thousands of the swarthy warriors of the desert at 
their heels—nay, even mixed up with them! 

On they came, a dark, frantic, yelling host, with 
irresistible fury, and, perchance, patriotism ! Shall 
we deny to those men what we claim for ourselves 
—love of hearth and home, of country, of freedom ? 
Can we not sympathise with men who groaned 
under an insolent and tyrannical yoke, and who, 
failing to understand or appreciate the purity of the 
motives by which we British were actuated, could 
see nothing in us except the supporters of their 
enemies ? 

They hurled themselves on that part of the large 
zereba which was defended by the Bengal Native 
Infantry. These fired a volley, but failed to check 
the impetuous rush. Everything went down before 
the savages, and the Native Infantry broke and fled, 
throwing into dire confusion the transport animals 
which stood in their immediate rear. 

General M'Neill himself dashed in among the 
panic-stricken men and sought to arrest them. He 
succeeded for a time in rallying some of them in 
No. 1 zereba, but another rush of the Arabs sent 
them flying a second time, and some of the enemy 
got into the square, it is said, to the number of 
112. The Berkshire men, however, stood fast, and 



246 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


not a soul who got into that square ever got out of 
it alive. In this wretched affair the 17th Bengal 
Native Infantry lost their brave commander. He 
was killed while trying to rally them. 

The confusion was now increased by the enemy 
driving the baggage-animals hither and thither, 
especially on to another half-battalion square of the 
Berkshire Regiment. Here, however, they were 
effectually checked. As the Atlantic billows burst 
in impotent turmoil on the cliffs of Cornwall, so the 
enemy fell upon and were hurled back by the stead¬ 
fast Berkshire Regiment, which scarcely lost a man, 
while over two hundred of their opponents lay dead 
around them. 

The Bombay Regiment also stood fast, and re¬ 
deemed, to some extent, the credit of their country; 
while the Sikhs, as might have been expected of 
them, never flinched for a moment, but strewed the 
plain around them with dead and dying men. 

There was horrible carnage for some time—un¬ 
flinching valour being opposed to desperate courage; 
and while a burning sense of injury, with a re¬ 
solve to conquer or die, was the motive power, no 
doubt, on one side, on the other there was the high 
sense of duty to Queen and country, and the pride 
of historical renown. 

Owing to the suddenness of the attack, and the 
occupation of the troops at the moment, there was 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


247 


some mixing up of men of different regiments. One 
company of Sikhs, who were helping to unload the 
camels when the fight began, having been prevented 
from joining their own regiment, cast in their lot 
with the marines. The better to help their European 
comrades these vigorous fellows leaped outside the 
zereba and lay down in front of it, and the two 
bodies together gave the charging foe such a warm 
reception that they never got within twenty yards 
of them. 

But there was a fearful scene of butchery among 
the baggage-animals, and many unequal hand-to- 
hand conflicts. There was terrible slaughter also 
among the working parties that had gone out to cut 
bushes with which to finish the zerebas, with coats 
off and away from their arms. Some individuals of 
the marines, who, as a body, suffered severely, were 
surrounded by a dozen Arabs, and their bodies were 
afterwards found covered with spear-wounds. This 
was the case with a sergeant named Mitchel, who 
had charge of a wood-cutting party and had been 
quietly chatting with our friend Stevenson just 
before the attack. Another case was that of Private 
Stanton, who had been through the Egyptain cam¬ 
paign of 1882, had fought at Kassassin, Tel-el-Kebir, 
El-Teb, and Tamai. When this expedition of which 
we write was arranged, he was one of the first to 
volunteer. He chanced to be outside the zereba when 




248 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


the attack was made, and failed to appear at muster. 
Next day he was found dead, with many spear- 
wounds, at some distance from the force. Poor 
fellow! he had not been killed outright, and had 
attempted to crawl towards the zerebas, but in his 
confusion had crept away in the wrong direction, 
and had slowly bled to death on the sands of the 
desert. 

During the rapid progress of this terrible scene 
of bloodshed, Miles and his friend Armstrong 
stood and fought shoulder to shoulder in the front 
rank at their allotted corner of the square—chiefly 
with bullet, but also, on several occasions, with 
bayonet, when the rush of the enemy threatened to 
break through all barriers, and drive in the line of 
defenders. They would certainly have succeeded, 
had these defenders been less powerful and resolute. 

“Well done!” exclaimed a deep bass voice, in 
evident enthusiasm, close to Miles. 

The latter glanced round. It was the voice of 
his friend Jack Molloy, who helped to work the 
Gardner gun, and who was at the moment admiring 
the daring act of an officer of Sikhs. 

Two men of the Berkshire Regiment, who had 
been employed outside the zereba, were pursued by 
several Arabs, and it was evident that their death 
was almost certain, when the Sikh officer referred to 
rushed out to the rescue, sprang between .the men 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


249 


and their pursuers, killed three of the latter in suc¬ 
cession with three rapid sword-cuts, and enabled 
the soldiers to escape, besides which, he checked the 
rush at that part of the square, and returned to 
his post in safety. 

The cheer of the Berkshire men and others who 
witnessed this feat was heard to rise above even 
the yells of combatants, the shrieks of the wounded, 
the rattle and crash of fire-arms, and the general 
turmoil and din of war. 

In one of the working parties that were out when 
the assault began was our friend Moses Pyne and 
his comrade Rattling Bill Simkin. These had been 
separated from the rest of their party when the first 
wild rush was made by the foe. The formation of 
the ground favoured their dropping into a place of 
concealment, thus for the moment saving them from 
the fate of being surrounded and cut to pieces, like 
too many of their straggling comrades. For a few 
seconds they lay close while the enemy rushed past 
like a torrent, to the assault just described. 

Then Moses uprose, with an expression of stern 
resolve on his usually meek countenance. 

“Simkin,” he said, as his comrade also got up, 
“ I’m not goin’ to lie hidin’ here while our boys are 
engaged wi’ the savages.” 

“No more am I, Moses,” returned Rattling Bill, 
with something of the jovially reckless air still 




250 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


lingering on his solemnised visage. “ But we’ve not 
much chance of getting hack to the zerebas without 
arms.” 

“ What d’ee call that ? ” asked Moses, holding out 
his chopper. 

“A very good weapon to fight the bush with,” 
answered Simkin, “but not worth much against 
Arab spears. However, comrade, choppers are all 
we have got, so we must make the most of ’em. 
They say a good workman can work with any tools. 
What d’ee propose to try ? I ’ll put myself under 
your orders, Moses; for, although you are a meekish 
sort of a fellow, I really believe you have a better 
headpiece than most of us.” 

“ I propose that we simply go at ’em,” said Moses. 
“Take ’em in rear, cut our way through, and get 
into the zereba—that’s all. It don’t take much of 
a headpiece to think that out.” 

“ Go ahead, then ! I ’ll back you,” said Battling 
Bill, without the least touch of bravado, as he bared 
his right arm to the shoulder. Both men were in 
shirts and trousers, with sleeves tucked up and their 
brawny arms exposed—Arabesquely brown up to 
the elbow, and infantinely white above that! 

The intended rush might have been successful, 
but for a change in the tactics of the enemy. Seeing 
that they were severely repulsed at the corner of 
the square, where Molloy and his tars worked the 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


251 


Gardner gun, while Miles and his comrades plied 
bullet and bayonet, the Arab chief sent a body of 
his followers to reinforce this point. It was just at 
the moment that Moses and Simldn made the dash 
from their place of concealment, so that they actually 
leaped, without having intended it, into the very 
midst of the reinforcements ! 

Two of the Arabs went down before the choppers 
instantly, and the others—almost panic-stricken by 
the suddenness and severity of the assault—turned to 
fly, supposing, no doubt, that an ambush had caught 
them. But seeing only two men they ran back, 
and would certainly have made short work of them 
if rescuers had not come up. 

And at this point in the fight there was exhibited 
a curious instance of the power of friendship to 
render steady men reckless. The incident we have 
just described was witnessed by the troops, for, the 
moment the two soldiers left their place of conceal¬ 
ment they were in full view of the large zereba. 

“ That’s Moses ! ” exclaimed Armstrong excitedly. 

Without a moment’s hesitation he sprang over 
the defence-works and ran to the rescue, clubbing 
his rifle as he went, and felling two Arabs there¬ 
with. 

“You shan’t die alone, Willie!” muttered our 
hero, as he also leaped the fence and followed his 
friend, just in time to save him from three Arabs 




252 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


who made at him simultaneously. Two of these 
Miles knocked down; his comrade felled the other. 
Then they turned back to back; Moses and Simkin 
did the same, and thus formed a little impromptu 
rallying square. This delayed the catastrophe, which 
seemed, however, inevitable. The brave little quar¬ 
tette, being surrounded by foes, could do nothing 
but parry with almost lightning speed the spear- 
thrusts that were made at them continually. 

Seeing this, the heart of Jack Molloy bounded 
within him, and friendship for the moment overcame 
the sense of duty. 

“You can only die once, Jack!" he exclaimed, 
drew his cutlass, leaped out of the zereba, and went 
at the foe with a thunderous roar, which, for a 
moment, actually made them quail. 

Infected with a similar spirit, Stevenson, the 
marine, also lost his head, if we may say so. Ee- 
solving to run a-muck for friendship’s sake, he 
followed the sailor, and increased the rallying square 
to live, while Molloy skirmished round it, parrying 
spear-thrusts, at once with left arm and cutlass, in 
quite a miraculous manner, roaring all the time like 
an infuriated lion, and causing the enemy to give 
back in horror wherever he made a rush. 

A root, however, tripped him up at last, and he 
fell forward headlong to the ground. A dozen spears 
were pointed at his broad back, when a tall majes- 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


253 


tic Arab sprang forward and held up one hand, 
while with the other he waved a sword. 

At that moment a strong force of the enemy came 
down with an impetuous rush on that corner of the 
zereba, and, coming between it and the little knot 
of combatants, hid them from view. 

The attack at this point was very determined, and 
for a few moments the issue seemed doubtful, for 
although the enemy fell in heaps they came on in 
such numbers that the defenders were almost over¬ 
whelmed. Steadiness, however, combined with in¬ 
domitable courage, prevailed. Everywhere they 
were repulsed with tremendous loss. Many instances 
of personal bravery occurred, of course, besides those 
we have described, but we may not pause to enume¬ 
rate these. Tenacity of life, also, was curiously 
exhibited in the case of some of the desperately 
wounded. 

One man in charge of two mules outside the 
zereba was trying to bring them in when he was 
attacked, and received three terrible spear-wounds 
in the back and one in the arm, which cut all the 
muscles and sinews. Yet this man ultimately 
recovered, though, of course, with the loss of his 
arm. 

Another man lost a leg and an arm, and was badly 
wounded in the other leg and in the hand, and, 
lastly, he was shot in the jaw. After being operated 




254 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


on, and having his wounds dressed, the doctor asked 
him how he felt. 

“ All right, sir,” he answered. “ TheyVe crippled 
me in arms and legs, and they Ve broke my jaw, 
but, thank God, they have not broke my heart yet! ” 

It was eight minutes to three when the Arabs 
made their first rush, and it was just ten minutes 
past three when the enemy was finally repelled 
and the bugle sounded “ Cease, firing.” Yet into 
these pregnant eighteen minutes all that we have 
described, and a vast deal more, was crowded. 
Nearly four hundred of our men were killed and 
wounded, while the enemy, it is believed, lost over 
two thousand. 

It is said by those who were present at the en¬ 
gagement that the officers of the 17th Bengal 
Infantry were heard to say that if their men had 
not given way, there would have been no “ disaster ” 
at all, and General M'Neill instead of being accused 
of permitting himself to be surprised, would have 
got credit for a heroic defence against overwhelming 
odds. If he had carried out his instructions, and 
pressed on to the end of eight miles, instead of 
prudently halting when he did, there can be no 
doubt that the force would have been surprised 
and absolutely cut to pieces. 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


255 


CHAPTER XIX. 

REFERS TO SERGEANT HARDY, AMYTOOR-LAWYER SUTHERLAND, 
AND OTHER MATTERS. 

Among the wounded in the great fight which we 
have just described was Hardy the sergeant. 

His position at the time the Arabs broke into the 
square was close to the right flank of the Indian 
Native Regiment, which gave way, so that it was he 
and a number of the flank men of his company who 
had to do most of the hand-to-hand fighting necessary 
to repair the disaster and drive back the enemy. Of 
course every soldier engaged in that part of the fight 
was, for a time, almost overwhelmed in the confu¬ 
sion, and many of them were surrounded and severely 
wounded. 

When the Native Infantry broke, Hardy’s captain 
sprang to the front, sword in hand, and cut down 
two of the foe. As he did so, he was, for a moment, 
separated from his company and surrounded. A 
powerful Arab was on the point of thrusting his 
spear into the captain’s back when Hardy observed 



256 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


his danger, bayoneted the Arab, and saved the 
officer. But it was almost at the cost of his own 
life, for another Arab, with whom he had been fight¬ 
ing at the moment, took advantage of the opportu¬ 
nity to thrust his spear into the chest of the 
sergeant, who fell, as was thought, mortally wounded. 

This, however, was not the case, for when the 
fight was over, his wound, although dangerous, was 
not supposed to be fatal, and he went into hospital 
on returning to Suakim. He was a Blue Light, and 
his temperance habits told in his favour. So did 
his religion, for the calm equanimity with which he 
submitted to the will of God, and bore his sufferings, 
went far to assist the doctor in grappling with his 
wound. But his religion did more than that, for 
when he thought of the heaven that awaited him, if 
he should die, and of being “ for ever with the Lord,” 
his heart was filled with joy; and joy not only “ does 
not kill,”—it is absolutely a source of life. In the 
sergeant’s case it formed an important factor in 
restoring him to partial health. 

One evening, some time after the battle of 
M'Neill’s zereba, Sutherland and Gaspard Bedgrave 
were seated beside the sergeant’s bed—cheering him 
up a bit, as they said—and chatting about the details 
of the recent fight. Once or twice the sergeant had 
tried to lead the conversation to religious subjects, 
but without success, for neither Sutherland nor 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


257 


Gaspard were seriously disposed, and both fought 
shy of such matters. 

“Well, it’s very kind of you to come an’ cheer 
me up, lads,” said Hardy at last; “ and I hope I may 
live to do the same for you, if either of you ever 
gets knocked over. Now, I want each of you to do 
me a favour. Will you promise ? ” 

“Of course we will,” said Gaspard quickly. 

“ If we can,” said the more cautious Scot. 

. “ Well, then, Gaspard, will you sing me a song ? 
I think it would do me good.” 

“With the greatest pleasure,” answered the soldier; 
“ but,” he added, looking round doubtfully, “ I don’t 
know how they might like it here.” 

“They’ll not object; besides, you can sing low. 
You’ve got the knack of singin’ soft—better than 
any man I ever heard.” 

“ Well, what shall it be ? ” returned the gratified 
Gaspard. 

“ One of Sankey’s hymns,” said the sergeant, with 
the remotest semblance of a twinkle in his eye, as 
he took a small hymn-book from under his pillow 
and gave it to his friend. 

Gaspard did not seem to relish the idea of singing 
hymns, but he had often heard the Blue Lights sing 
them, and could not plead ignorance of the tunes; 
besides, being a man of his word, he would not 
refuse to fulfil his promise. 

R 




258 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Sing No. 68, ‘Shall we gather at the river?’ 
I’m very fond of that hymn.” 

In a sweet, soft, mellow voice, that charmed all 
who were within hearing, Gaspard began the hymn, 
and when he had finished there was heard more 
than one “Amen” and “Thank God” from the 
neighbouring beds. 

“Yes, comrades, we shall, gather there,” said the 
sergeant, after a brief pause, “ for the same Almighty 
Saviour who saved me died for you as well. I ain’t 
used to wettin’ my cheeks, as you know, lads, but I 
s’pose my wound has weakened me a bit! Now 
Sutherland, the favour I have to ask of-” 

“ If ye ’re thinkin’ o’ askin’ me to pray,” broke in 
the alarmed Scotsman, “ye may save your breath. 
Whan I promised, I said ‘ if I can! Noo, I can not 
pray, an’ it’s nae use askin’ me to try. Whatever 
I may come to in this warld, I ’ll no be a heepycrit 
for ony leevin’ man.” 

“ Quite right, Sutherland—quite right. I had no 
intention of asking you to pray,” replied Hardy, 
with a faint smile. “ What I want you to do is to 
draw out my will for me.” 

“ Oh ! I’m quite willin’ to do that,” returned the 
relieved Scot. 

“You see,” continued the sergeant, “one never 
knows what may be the result of a bad wound in a 
climate like this, and if it pleases my Father in 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


259 


lieaven to call me home, I should like the few 
trifles I possess to go in the right direction.” 

“That’s a wise-like sentiment,” returned his 
friend, with an approving nod and thoughtful frown. 

“Now, as you write a capital hand, and know 
how to express yourself on paper,” continued Hardy, 
“ it strikes me that you will do the job better than 
any one else; and, being a friend, I feel that I can 
talk freely to you on my private affairs. So you ’ll 
help me ? ” 

“ I’m wullin’ to try, serjint, and ac’ the legal 
adviser—amytoor-like, ye ken.” 

“ Thank you. Can you come to-morrow morning?” 

“No, serjint, I canna, because I’ve to start airly 
the morn’s mornin’ wi’ a pairty to meet the Scots 
Gairds cornin’ back frae Tamai, but the moment I 
come back I ’ll come to ye.” 

“ That will do—thank you. And now, Gaspard, 
what’s the news from England ? I hear that a mail 
has just come in.” 

“News that will make your blood boil,” said 
Gaspard sternly. 

“ It would take a good deal of powerful news to 
boil the little blood that is left in me,” said Hardy, 
languidly. 

“Well, I don’t know. Anyhow it makes mine 
boil. What d’you think of McNeill’s brave defence 
being represented in the papers as a disaster ? ” 




260 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ You don’t mean that! ” 

“ Indeed I do. They say that it was a disaster! 
whereas it was a splendid defence under singularly 
adverse circumstances! They say that General 
M'Neill permitted himself to be surprised! If he had 
tried to carry out his instructions to the full extent, 
it would indeed have been such a surprise that the 
surprising thing would have been if a single man of 
us had returned alive to tell the tale—as you and I 
know full well. The truth is, it was the fault of the 
Intelligence Department that nearly wrecked us, 
and it was M'Neill’s prudence and our pluck that 
saved us, and yet these quill-drivers at home— 
bah!” 

The soldier rose in hot indignation and strode 
from the room. 

“ He’s a wee thing roosed! ” remarked Sutherland, 
with a good-humoured yet slightly cynical grin. 
“ But guid-nicht to ye, ma man. Keep up hert an’ 
I ’ll come an’ draft yer wull i’ the mornin’.” 

So saying the “amytoor” lawyer took his departure, 
and was soon tramping over the desert sands with a 
band of his comrades. 

They were not, however, permitted to tramp in 
peace, for their indefatigable foe hung on their skirts 
and annoyed them the greater part of the way. 
Toward evening they met the Guards, and as it was 
too late to return to Suakim the force bivouacked in 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


261 


M'Neill’s deserted zereba, surrounded by graves and 
scarcely buried corpses. 

Only those who were there can fully understand 
what that meant. All round the zereba, and for 
three miles on the Suakim side of it, the ground 
was strewn thickly with the graves of Europeans, 
Indians, and Arabs, and so shallow were these that 
from each of them there oozed a dark, dreadful 
stain. To add to the horrors of the scene, portions 
of mangled and putrefying corpses protruded from 
many of them—ghastly skulls, from the sockets of 
which the eyes had been picked by vultures and 
other obscene birds. Limbs of brave men upon 
which the hyaena had already begun his dreadful 
work, and half-skeleton hands, with fingers spread 
and bent as if still clutching the foe in death- 
agony, protruded above the surface; mixed with 
these, and unburied, were the putrefying carcases of 
camels and mules—the whole filling the air with a 
horrible stench, and the soul with a fearful loathing, 
which ordinary language is powerless to describe, 
and the inexperienced imagination cannot conceive. 

Oh! it is terrible to think that from the Fall till 
now man has gone on continually producing and 
reproducing scenes like this—sometimes, no doubt, 
unavoidably; but often, too often, because of some 
trifling error, or insult, on the part of statesmen, or 
some paltry dispute about a boundary, or, not 





262 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


infrequently, on grounds so shadowy and complex 
that succeeding historians have found it almost 
impossible to convey the meaning thereof to the 
intellects of average men ! 

Amid these dreadful memorials of the recent fight 
the party bivouacked! 

Next day the troops returned to Suakim, and 
Sutherland, after breakfast, and what he called a 
wash-up, went to see his friend Sergeant Hardy, 
with pen, ink, and paper. 

“Weel, serjint, hoo are ye the day?” 

“ Pretty well, thank you—pretty well. Ah ! 
Sutherland, I have been thinking what an im¬ 
portant thing it is for men to come to Jesus for 
salvation while in their health and strength; for 
now, instead of being anxious about my soul, as so 
many are when the end approaches, I am rejoicing 
in the thought of soon meeting God—my Father! 
Sutherland, my good fellow, it is foolish as well as 
wrong to think only of this life. Of all men in the 
world we soldiers ought to know this.” 

The sergeant spoke so earnestly and his eyes 
withal looked so solemnly from their sunken sockets, 
that his friend could not help being impressed. 

“ I believe ye Te no’ far wrang, serjint, an’ I tak’ 
shame to mysel’ that I’ve been sic a harum-scarum 
sinner up to this time.” 

Sutherland said this with a look so honest that 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


263 


Hardy was moved to put out his large wasted hand 
and grasp that of his friend. 

“ Comrade,” he said, “ God is waiting to be 
gracious. Jesus is ever ready and willing to save.” 

Sutherland returned the pressure but made no 
reply ; and Hardy, praying for a blessing on the little 
that had been said, changed the subject by saying— 

“ You have brought paper and ink, I see.” 

“ Ay, but, man, ye mauna be speakin’ o’ takin’ 
yer depairture yet. This draftin’ o’.yer wull is only 
a precaution.” 

“ Quite right, lad. I mean it only as a precau¬ 
tion,” returned Hardy, in a cheerful tone. “ But 
you seem to have caught a cold—eh ? What makes 
you cough and clear your throat so ? ” 

“ A cauld! I wush it was only a cauld ! Man, 
it’s the stink o’ thae corps that I canna get oot o’ 
my nose an’ thrapple.” 

Hereupon Sutherland, by way of entertaining his 
invalid friend, launched out into a graphic account 
of the scene he had so recently witnessed at M'NeilTs 
zereba. When that subject was exhausted, he ar¬ 
ranged his writing materials and began with all the 
solemnity of a lawyer. 

“Noo, serjint, what div ye want me to pit doon ?” 

“Well, I must explain first that I have very 
little to leave, and no one to leave it to.” 

“ What! Nae frien’s ava ? ” 





264 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Not one. I have neither wife nor child, brother 
nor sister. I have indeed one old cousin, but he is 
rich, and would not be benefited by my poor little 
possessions; besides, he’s a cross-grained old fellow, 
and does not deserve anything, even though I had 
something worth leaving. However, I bear him no 
ill-will, poor man, only I don’t want what I do leave 
to go to him, which it would if I were to die with¬ 
out a will; because, of course, he is my natural heir, 
and-” 

“Haud ye there, man,” said the Scot abruptly 
but slowly. “ If he’s your nait’ral heir, ye’re his 
nait’ral heir tae, ye ken.” 

“Of course, I am aware of that,” returned the 
sergeant with an amused look; “ but the old man is 
eccentric, and has always boasted that he means to 
leave his wealth to some charity. Indeed, I know 
that he has already made his will, leaving his money 
to build an hospital—for incurables of some sort, I 
believe.” 

“ Ma certy! If I was his lawyer,” said Sutherland, 
with ineffable scorn, “ I wad advise him to erec’ an 
hospital in his lifetime for incurable eediots, an’ to 
gang in himsel’ as the first patient. But, come awa 
wi’ yer wull, serjint.” 

“ Get ready, then, my lawyer, and see that you 
put it down all ship-shape, as poor Molloy would 
have said.” 




HOT WOKK IN THE SOUDAN. 


265 


“ Oh, ye needna fear,” said the Scot, “ I’m no’ sic 
an ass as to trust to my ain legal knowledge. But 
jist you say what ye want an’ I’ll pit it doon, and 
then write it into a form in the reg’lar way.” 

After mentioning a few trifling legacies to various 
comrades, Hardy said that he had managed to save 
a hundred pounds during his career, which he 
wished to divide between his two comrades, John 
Miles and Willie Armstrong, for whom he expressed 
strong regard. 

Sutherland, instead of noting this down, looked at 
his friend in sad surprise, thinking that weakness 
had caused his mind to wander. 

“ Ye forget, serjint,” he said softly, “ that Miles 
an’ Airmstrang are baith deed.” 

“ No, lad; no one can say they are certainly 
dead.” 

“Aweel—we canna exactly say it, but when ye 
consider o’ the born deevils that have gotten haud 
o’ them, we are entitled to think them deed ony 
way.” 

“ They are reported as ‘ missing,’ that is all, and 
that is enough for me. You write down what I tell 
you, lad. Now, have you got it down ? ” 

“ Ay, fifty to each.” 

“ There may be some interest due on the account,” 
said the sergeant thoughtfully; “ besides, there may 
be a few things in my kit that I have forgotten— 



266 BLUE LIGHTS, OR 

and—it’s not worth while dividing such trifles be¬ 
tween them.” 

“ Weel, weel, ye’ve only to mak yin o’ them yer 
residooary legitee, an’ that ’ll pit it a’ riclit.” 

“True, my lawyer. Let it be so,” said Hardy, 
with a short laugh at the thought of making so 
much ado about nothing. “ Make Miles my re¬ 
siduary legatee. And now, be off, draw it out fair, 
an’ leave me to rest, for I’m a trifle tired after all 
this legal work.” 

The will thus carefully considered was duly made 
out, signed, and witnessed, after which Sergeant 
Hardy awaited with cheerful resignation whatever 
fate should be appointed to him. 

His strong frame and constitution, undamaged by 
youthful excess, fought a vigorous battle for life, 
and he began slowly to mend; but the climate of 
Suakim was so bad for him that he was finally sent 
down to the hospital at Alexandria, where, under 
much more favourable circumstances, he began to 
recover rapidly. 

One of the nurses there was very kind to him. 
Finding that the sergeant was an earnest Christian, 
she had many interesting talks with him on the 
subject nearest his heart. 

One day she said to him with unusual animation: 
“ The doctor says you may go down to the Soldiers’ 
Institute that has recently been set up here, and 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


267 


stay for some time to recruit. It is not intended 
for invalids, you know, but the ladies in charge are 
intimate friends of mine, and have agreed to let 
you have a room. The Institute stands on a very 
pleasant part of the. shore, exposed to the fresh sea- 
breezes ; and there are lots of books and newspapers 
and games, as well as lectures, concerts, prayer- 
meetings, Bible-readings, and-” 

“Ay, just like Miss Robinson’s Institute at Ports¬ 
mouth,” interrupted Hardy. “ I know the sort o’ 
thing well.” 

“ The Alexandrian Soldiers’ Institute is also Miss 
Robinson’s,” returned the nurse, with a pleased look; 
“ so if you know the one at Portsmouth, there is 
no need for my describing the other to you. The 
change will do you more good in a week than months 
at this place. And I ’ll come to see you frequently. 
There is a widow lady staying there just now to 
whom I will introduce you. She has been helping 
us to nurse here, for she has great regard for 
soldiers; but her health having broken down some¬ 
what, she has transferred her services to the In¬ 
stitute for a time. She is the widow of a clergyman 
who came out here not long ago and died suddenly. 
You will find her a very sympathetic soul.” 





268 


BLUE LIGHTS, OK 


CHAPTER XX. 

OLD FRIENDS IN NEW ASPECTS. 

On the evening of the third day after the con¬ 
versation narrated in the last chapter, Sergeant 
Hardy sat in an easy-chair on the verandah of the 
Soldiers’ Institute at Alexandria, in the enjoyment 
of a refreshing breeze, which, after ruffling the blue 
waters of the Mediterranean, came like a cool hand 
on a hot brow, to bless for a short time the land of 
Egypt. 

Like one of Aladdin’s palaces the Institute had 
sprung up—not exactly in a night, but in a mar¬ 
vellously short space of time. There was more of 
interest about it, too, than about the Aladdin build¬ 
ings ; for whereas the latter were evolved magically 
out of that mysterious and undefinable region termed 
Nowhere, the Miss Robinson edifice came direct 
from smoky, romantic London, without the advan¬ 
tage of supernatural assistance. 

When Miss Robinson’s soldier friends were leaving 
for the seat of war in Egypt, some of, them had said 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


269 


to her, “ Three thousand miles from home are three 
thousand good reasons why you should think of us !” 
The “ Soldiers’ Friend ” took these words to heart— 
also to God. She did think of them, and she per¬ 
suaded other friends to think of them, to such good 
purpose that she soon found herself in possession of 
funds sufficient to begin the work. 

As we have seen, her energetic servant and fellow- 
worker, Mr. Thomas Tufnell, was sent out to Egypt 
to select a site for the building. The old iron and 
wood Oratory at Broinpton was bought, and sent 
out at Government expense—a fact which speaks 
volumes for the Government opinion of the value of 
Miss Kobinson’s work among soldiers. 

In putting up the old Oratory, Tufnell had trans¬ 
formed it to an extent that might almost have made 
Aladdin’s Slave of the Lamp jealous. Certainly, 
those who were wont to “orate” in the building 
when it stood in Brompton would have failed to 
recognise the edifice as it arose in Egypt on the 
Boulevard Bamleh, between the Grand Square of 
Alexandria and the sea. 

The nave of the old Oratory had been converted 
into a room "ninety-nine feet long, with couches and 
tables running down both sides, a billiard-table in 
the centre, writing materials in abundance, and 
pictures on the walls. At one end of the room 
stood a pianoforte, couches, and easy-chairs, and a 





270 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


door opened into a garden facing the sea. Over 
the door were arranged several flags, and above 
these, in large letters, the appropriate words, “ In 
the name of the Lord will we set up our banners.” 
At the other end was a temperance refreshment 
bar. On a verandah facing the sea men could 
repose on easy-chairs and smoke their pipes or 
cigars, while contemplating the peculiarities of an 
Eastern climate. 

It was here that our friend Sergeant Hardy was 
enjoying that blessed state of convalescence which 
may be described as gazing straight forward and 
thinking of nothing! 

Of course there were all the other appliances of 
a well-equipped Institute—such as sleeping-cabins, 
manager’s room, Bible-class room, lavatory, and all 
the rest of it, while a handsome new stone building 
close beside it contained sitting-rooms, bed-rooms, 
club-room for officers, kitchens, and, by no means 
least, though last, a large lecture-hall. 

But to these and many other things we must not 
devote too much space, for old friends in new aspects 
claim our attention. Only, in passing from such 
details, it may not be out of place to say that it has 
been remarked that the sight of Miss Bobinson’s 
buildings, steadily rising from the midst of acres of 
ruins, while men’s minds were agitated by the 
bombardment and its results, produced a sense of 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


271 


security which had a most beneficial and quietening 
effect on the town ! Indeed, one officer of high rank 
went so far as to say that the Institute scheme had 
given the inhabitants more confidence in the in¬ 
tentions of England than anything yet done or 
promised by Government! 

In a rocking-chair beside the sergeant reclined a 
shadow in loose—remarkably loose—fitting soldier’s 
costume. 

“ What a blessed place to sit in and rest after the 
toils and sufferings of war,” said Hardy, to the 
shadow, “ and how thankful I am to God for bring¬ 
ing me here! ” 

“It’s a hivenly place intirely,” responded the 
shadow, “an’ ’tis mesilf as is thankful too—what’s 
left o’ me anyhow, an’ that’s not much. Sure I’ve 
had some quare thoughts in me mind since I come 
here. Wan o’ them was—what is the smallest 
amount o’ skin an’ bone that’s capable of howldin’ 
a thankful spirit ? ” 

“ I never studied algebra, Flynn, so it’s of no use 
puttin’ the question to me,” said Hardy ; “ besides, 
I’m not well enough y.et to tackle difficult questions, 
but I’m real glad to see you, my boy, though there 
is so little of you to see.” 

“That’s it, sarjint; that’s just where it lies,” 
returned Flynn, in a slow, weak voice. “I’ve bin 
occupied wi’ that question too—namely, how thin 




272 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


may a man git widout losin’ the power to howld up 
his clo’es ? ” 

“You needn’t be uneasy on that score,” said 
Hardy, casting an amused glance at his companion, 
“ for there ’s plenty o’ flesh left yet to keep ye goin’ 
till you get to old Ireland. It rejoices my heart to see 
you beside me, thin though you are, for the report up 
country was that you had died on the way to Suez.” 

“ Bad luck to their reports! That’s always the 
way of it. I do think the best way to take reports 
is to belaive the exact opposite o’ what’s towld ye, 
an’ so ye ’ll come nearest the truth. It’s thrue I 
had a close shave. Wan day I felt a sort o’ light- 
hiddedness—as if I was a kind o’ livin’ balloon— 
and was floatin’ away, whin the doctor came an’ 
looked at me. 

“ f He’s gone/ says he. 

“ ‘ That’s a lie! ’ says I, with more truth than 
purliteness, maybe. 

“ An’ would ye belave it ?—I began to mind from 
that hour! It was the doctor saved me widout 
intindin’ to—good luck to him! Anyhow he kep’ 
me from slippin’ my cable that time, but it was the 
good nursin’ as brought me back—my blissin’ on the 
dear ladies as give their hearts to this work all for 
love! By the way,” continued Flynn, coughing and 
looking very stern, for he was ashamed of a tear or 
two which would rise and almost overflow in spite of 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


273 


his efforts to restrain them—but then, you see, he 
was very weak ! “ By the way,” he said, “ you ’ll 

niver guess who wan o’ the nurses is. Who d’ee 
think ?—guess ! ” 

“ I never could guess right, Flynn.” 

“ Try.” 

“ Well, little Mrs. Armstrong.” 

“ Nonsense, man! Why, she’s nursin’ her old 
father in England, I s’pose.” 

“ Miss Robinson, then ? ” 

“ H’m! You might as well say the Prime Minister. 
How d’ee s’pose the Portsmuth Institute could git 
along widout her ? No, it’s our friend Mrs. Drew ! ” 

“ What! The wife o’ the reverend gentleman as 
came out with us in the troop-ship ? ” 

“That same—though she’s no longer the wife of 
the riverend gintleman, for he’s dead—good man,” 
said Flynn, in a sad voice. 

“ I’m grieved to hear that, for he was a good man. 
And the pretty daughter, what of her ? ” 

“ That’s more nor I can tell ye, boy. Sometimes 
her mother brings her to the hospital to let her see 
how they manage, but I fancy she thinks her too 
young yet to go in for sitch work by hersilf. Any¬ 
how I’ve seen her only now an’ then ; but the poor 
widdy comes rig’lar—though I do belave she does 
it widout pay. The husband died of a fiver caught 
in the hospital a good while since. They say that 




274 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


lots o’ young fellows are afther the daughter, for 
though the Drews are as poor as church rats, she’s 
got such a swate purty face, and such innocent ways 
wid her, that I’d try for her mesilf av it wasn’t that 
I’ve swore niver to forsake me owld grandmother.” 

Chatting thus about times past and present, while 
they watched the soldiers and seamen who passed 
continuously in and out of the Institute—intent on 
a game, or some non-intoxicant refreshment, or a 
lounge, a look at the papers, a confab, with a 
comrade, or a bit of reading—the two invalids en¬ 
joyed their rest to the full, and frequently blessed 
the lady who provided such a retreat, as well as her 
warm-hearted assistants, who, for the love of Christ 
and human souls, had devoted themselves to carry 
on the work in that far-off land. 

“ I often think-” said Hardy. 

But what he thought was never revealed ; for at 
that moment two ladies in deep mourning ap¬ 
proached, whom the sergeant recognised at a glance 
as Mrs. Drew and her daughter Marion. The faces 
of both were pale and sorrowful; but the beauty of 
the younger was rather enhanced than otherwise by 
this, and by contrast with her sombre garments. 

They both recognised the sergeant at once, and, 
hastening forward, so as to prevent his rising, greeted 
him with the kindly warmth of old friends. 

“It seems such a long time since we met,” said 




HOT WORK IK THE SOUDAN. 


275 


the elder lady, “ but we have never forgotten you or 
the comrades with whom we used to have such 
pleasant talks in the troop-ship.” 

“Sure am I, madam,” said the sergeant, “that 
they have never forgotten you and your kind— 
kind-” 

“Yes, my husband was very kind to you all,” 
said the widow, observing the delicacy of feeling 
which stopped the soldier’s utterance; “ he was kind 
to every one. But we have heard some rumours 
that have made me and my daughter very sad. Is 
it true that a great many men of your regiment 
were killed and wounded at the battle fought 
by General M'Neill ? ” 

“Quite true, madam,” answered the sergeant, 
glancing at the daughter with some surprise; for 
Marion was gazing at him with an intensely anxious 
look and parted lips. “ But, thank God, many were 
spared!” 

“ And—and—how are the two fine-looking young 
men that were so fond of each other—like twins 
almost ” 

“ Sure, didn’t I tell ye, misthress, that they was 
both k-” 

“Hold your tongue, Flynn,” interrupted the 
widow, with a forced smile. “ You are one of my 
most talkative patients ! I want to hear the truth 
of this matter from a man who has come more 







276 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


recently from the scene of action than yourself. 
What do you think, Mr. Hardy ? ” 

“ You refer to John Miles and William Armstrong, 
no doubt, madam,” said the sergeant, in a somewhat 
encouraging tone. “Well, if Flynn says they were 
killed he has no ground whatever for saying so. 
They are only reported missing. Of course that is 
bad enough, but as long as a man is only missing 
there is plenty of room for hope. You see, they may 
have managed to hide, or been carried off as prisoners 
into the interior; and you may be sure the Arabs 
would not be such fools as to kill two men like- 
Miles and Armstrong; they’d rather make slaves of 
’em, in which case there will be a chance of their 
escaping, or, if we should become friendly again wi* 
these fellows, they’d be set free.” 

“ I’m so glad to hear you say so, and I felt sure 
that my desponding patient here was taking too 
gloomy a view of the matter,” said Mrs. Drew, with 
a significant glance at Marion, who seemed to breathe 
more freely and to lose some of her anxious expression 
after the sergeant’s remarks. 

Perhaps at this point a little conversation that 
took place between Mrs. Drew and her daughter 
that same evening may not be out of place. 

“ Dear May,” said the former, “ did I not tell you 
that Flynn took too gloomy a view of the case of 
these young soldiers, in whom your dear father was 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


277 


so much interested ? But, darling, is it not foolish 
in you to think so much about Miles ? ” 

“ It may be foolish, mother, but I cannot help it,” 
said Marion, blushing deeply; for she was very 
modest as well as simple. 

“ May, dear, I wonder that you can make such an 
admission ! ” said the mother remonstratively. 

“ Is it wrong to make such an admission to one's 
own mother, when it is true ? ” asked Marion, still 
blushing, but looking straight in her mother’s eyes; 
for she was very straightforward as well as modest 
and simple! 

“ Of course not, dear, but—but—in short, Miles 

is only a—a—soldier, you know, and-” 

“ Only a soldier! ” interrupted Marion, with a flash 
from her soft brown eyes; for she was an enthusiast 
as well as straightforward, modest, and simple ! “ I 

suppose you mean that he is only a private, but what 
then? May not the poorest private in the army 
rise, if he be but noble-minded and worthy and 
capable, to the rank of a general, or higher—if there 
is anything higher ? Possibly the Commander-in- 
cliiefship may be open to him ! ” 

“ True, my love, but in the meantime his social 
position is-” 

“Is quite as good as our own,” interrupted Marion; 
for she was a desperate little radical as well as an 
enthusiast, straightforward, modest, and simple! 





278 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ You know lie let out something about his parents 
and position, and of course, he told the truth. Be¬ 
sides, I repeat that I cannot help loving him, and 
surely we are not responsible for our affections. We 
cannot love and hate to order. I might fall in love 
with—with—well, it’s no good talking; but, any¬ 
how, I could not help it. I could be silent if you 
like, but I could not help myself.” 

Mrs. Drew seemed a little puzzled how to deal 
with her impetuous daughter, and had begun to 
reply, when May interrupted her. Flushing deeply, 
for she was very sensitive, and with a feeling that 
amounted almost to indignation, she continued— 

“ I wonder at you, mother—it’s so unlike you ; 
as if those unworthy considerations of difference of 
rank and station could influence, or ought to influ¬ 
ence, one in such a question as this ! ” 

Mrs. Drew paused for a moment. She knew that 
her daughter gave expression to the views that had 
marked the dealings of the husband and father, so 
lately lost to them, in every action of his life. 
Marion’s happiness, too, during the remainder of 
her days, might be involved in the result of the 
present conversation, and she was moved to say— 

“ My dear, has John Miles ever spoken to you ?” 

“ Oh! mother, how can you ask me ? If he had 
done so, would I have delayed one minute in letting 
you know ? ” 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


279 


“ Forgive me, dearest. I did you wrong in admit¬ 
ting the thought even for a moment. But you spoke 
so earnestly—as if you might have some reason for 
thinking that he cared for you.” 

“Don’t you know,” answered Marion, looking 
down, and a little confused, “ that men can speak 
with their eyes as well as their lips ? I not only 
feel sure that he cares for me, hut I feel sure, from 
the sentiments he expressed to me on the voyage, 
that nothing would induce him to talk to me of love 
while in his present position.” 

“ How does all this consist, my love,” asked Mrs. 
Drew, “ with your knowledge of the fact that he left 
home in anger, and would not he persuaded, even by 
your dear father, to write home a penitent letter ? ” 
Marion was silent. This had not occurred to her 
before. But love is not to be turned from its object 
by trifles. She was all that we have more than 
once described her to be; but she was not a meta¬ 
physician or a philosopher, capable of comprehending 
and explaining occult mysteries. Enough for her 
if she loved Miles and Miles loved her, and then, 
even if he did not deserve her love, she would 
remain true—secretly but unalterably true—to him 
as the needle is to the pole! 

“Has it not occurred to you, dear,” said her mother, 
pursuing her advantage in a meditative tone, “ that 
if Miles has been so plain-spoken and eloquent with 




280 


BLUE LIGHTS, Oil 


liis blue eye, that your pretty brown ones may have 
said something to him ? ” 

“ Never ! ” exclaimed the girl, with an indignant 
flash. “ Oh ! mother, can you believe me capable 
of—of—no, I never looked at him except with the 
air of a perfect stranger—at least of a—a—but why 
should I try to deny what could not possibly be 
true?” 

Mrs. Drew felt that nothing was to be gained 
from pursuing the subject—or one aspect of it— 
further. 

“ At any rate,” she said, “ I am glad, for his own 
sake, poor young fellow, that Sergeant Hardy spoke 
so hopefully.” 

“ And for his comrades’ sakes as well,” said 
Marion. “You know, mother, that his friend 
Armstrong is also reported as missing, and Steven¬ 
son the marine, as well as that dear big bluff sailor, 
Jack Molloy. By the way, do you feel well enough 
to go to the lecture to-night ? It is to be a very 
interesting one, I am told, with magic-lantern 
illustrations, and I don’t like to go alone.” 

“ I am going to-night, so you may make your 
mind easy,” said her mother. “ I would not miss 
this lecturer, because I am told that he is a re¬ 
markably good one, and the hall is likely to be quite 
full.” 

In regard to this lecture and some other things 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


281 


connected with the Alexandrian Institute, our friend 
Sergeant Hardy learned a good deal from the lady 
at the head of it, not long after the time that Mrs. 
Drew had the foregoing conversation with Marion. 

It is scarcely needful to say' that the Lady- 
Superintendent was a capable Christian as well as 
an enthusiast in her work. 

“ Come to my room, Sergeant Hardy, and I ’ll tell 
you all about it,” she said, leading the way to her 
apartment, where the sergeant placed himself upon 
a chair, holt upright, as if he were going to have a 
tooth drawn, or were about to illustrate some new 
species of sitting-drill. 



282 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTER XXL 

SHOWS HOW THE LADY OF THE INSTITUTE DISCOURSES TO THE 
SERGEANT, HOW JACK-TARS GO OUT ON THE SPREE, 

AND HOW MUSIC CONQUERS WARRIORS. 

“ It seems wonderful to me, madam,” said Sergeant 
Hardy, looking round the lady’s room with an 
admiring gaze, “ how quickly you have got things 
into working order here. When I remember that 
last year this place was a heap of rubbish, it seems 
like magic.” 

“ All the work of God on earth seems magical 
the more we reflect on it,” returned the lady. “ The 
fact that our Institute was conceived, planned, and 
carried into successful operation by an invalid lady, 
in spite of discouragement, and, at first, with 
inadequate means, is itself little short of miraculous, 
but what is even more surprising is the fact 
that the Government, which began by throwing cold 
water on her Portsmouth work, has ended by 
recognising it and by affording us every facility 
here in Alexandria.” 

“Well, you see, madam, I suppose it’s because 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


283 


they see that we soldiers and sailors likes it, an’ it 
does a power o’ good—don’t you think ? ” 

“No doubt, but whatever may be the reason, 
Sergeant, we are very thankful for the encourage¬ 
ment. I suppose you have heard what a grand 
occasion our opening day was ? ” 

“ No, madam, I haven’t. You see, away at Suakim 
we was so constantly taken up with the attentions 
of Osman Digna that we had little time for anything 
but eatin’ and sleepin’ when we wasn’t on sentry 
an’ fightin’, so that we often missed bits of news. 
Was there a great turn-out o’ men ? ” 

“Indeed there was,” returned the lady, with 
animation; “ and not only of men, but of all the 
Alexandrian notables. It was on the 23d of 
February last (1885) that our Institute was opened 
by Major-General Lennox, V.C., C.B., who was in 
command of the garrison. This was not the first 
time by any means that the soldiers had paid us a 
visit. A number of men, who, like yourself, Sergeant 
Hardy, sympathise with our work in its spiritual 
aspects, had been frequently coming to see how we 
were getting on, and many a pleasant hour’s prayer 
and singing we had enjoyed with them, accompanied 
by our little harmonium, which had been sent to 
us by kind friends in England; and every Sunday 
evening we- had had a little service in the midst of 
the shavings and carpenters’ benches. 



284 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ But on this grand opening day the men came 
down in hundreds, and a great surprise some of 
them got—especially the sceptical among them. 
The entrance was decorated with palms. At the 
further end of the reading-room the trophy of 
Union Jacks and the Boyal Standard, which you see 
there now, was put up by a band of Jack-tars who 
had come to help us as well as to see the fun. Over 
the trophy was our text, ' In the name of the Lord 
will we set up our banners/ for we liked to feel that 
we had taken possession of this little spot in Egypt 
for God—and we believe that it will always be His. 

“ Everything was bright and hearty. There were 
about five hundred soldiers and sailors, and between 
two and three hundred officers and civilians of all 
nationalities. On the platform we had Osman 
Pasha-” 

“ Ha! ” interrupted the sympathetic sergeant, “ I 
only wish we could have had Osman Digna there 
too ! It would do more to pacify the Soudan than 
killing his men does ! ” 

“ I daresay it would,” responded the lady with a 
laugh, “but have patience, Hardy; we shall have 
him there yet, and perhaps the Mahdi too—or 
some future grand occasion. Well, as I was saying, 
we had Osman, the Governor of Alexandria, on our 
platform, and a lot of big-wigs that you know nothing 
about, but whose influence was of importance, and 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


285 


whose appearance went far to make the place look 
gay. Of course we had music, beginning with ‘ God 
save the Queen/ and speeches—brilliant as well as 
heavy; sententious and comic—like all other 
similar gatherings, and the enthusiasm was un¬ 
bounded. How could it be otherwise with sailors 
to cheer and soldiers to back them up ? And you 
may be sure that in such a meeting the enthusiasm 
about the undertaking did not fail to extend to the 
‘ Soldiers’ Friend’ who had originated the whole. In 
short, it was a splendid success.” 

“ Of course it was,” said the sergeant, with em¬ 
phasis ; “ first, because of God’s blessing, an’, second, 
because the Institoot was greatly needed. Why, 
madam, if it wasn’t for this place the thousands of 
soldiers stationed here, not to mention the sailors, 
would have no place to go to spend their leave and 
leisure time but the drinkin’ dens o’ the town; an’ 
you know well, though p’r’aps not so well as I do, 
what terrible places these are, where men are 
tempted, fleeced, debauched, and sometimes mur¬ 
dered.” 

“ Quite true, Hardy. Did you hear of the case 
that occurred just two days ago ? A sergeant of one 
of the regiments, I forget which, after paying his 
fare to a donkey-boy, turned quietly to walk away, 
when the scoundrel felled him with a stick and 
robbed him of XI, 10s. The case is before the law- 




286 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


court now, and no doubt the robber will receive a 
just reward. 

“Well, as I was remarking, the opening day- 
carried us to high tide, so to speak, and there has 
been no ebb from that day to this. One comical 
incident, however, occurred just at the beginning, 
which might have done us damage. The day after 
the opening all was prepared for the reception of 
our soldier and sailor friends. The tables were 
arranged with books and games, the writing-table 
with pens, ink, and blotting-paper, and the bar with 
all sorts of eatables, magnificent urns, coloured 
glass, etc. About one o’clock William, our barman, 
tasted the coffee. His usual expression of self- 
satisfaction gave place to one of horror. He 
tasted the coffee again. The look of horror 
deepened. He ran to the boiler, and the mystery 
was cleared up. The boiler had been filled with 
salt water! Our Arab, Ibrairn, who carries up sea¬ 
water daily to fill our baths, had filled the boiler 
with the same. Luckily there was time to correct 
the mistake, and when our friends came trooping in 
at four o’clock they found the coffee quite to their 
taste. 

“You know very well,” continued the superin¬ 
tendent, “ our rules never to force religion on any 
of our customers, our object being to attract by all 
the legitimate means in our power. We have our 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


287 


Bible-classes, prayer-meetings, temperance soirees, 
and the like, distinct—as at Portsmouth—from the 
other advantages of the Institute; and are quite 
content if some, who come at first from mere curi¬ 
osity or for the enjoyment of temporal good things, 
should afterwards continue to come from higher and 
spiritual motives. But if our military friends prefer 
to read our papers and books, and play our games, 
and use our bar, they are at perfect liberty to do so, 
without what I may style religious interference. 
It’s all fair and above-board, you see. We fully 
recognise the freedom of will that God has bestowed 
on man. If you don’t care for our spiritual fare you 
may let it alone. If you relish it—there it is, and 
you are welcome. Yet we hold by our right to win 
men if we can. In point of fact, we have been 
very successful already in this way, for our motive 
power from beginning to end is Love. 

“One of our most helpful soldier friends—a 
sergeant—has brought several men to the Saviour, 
who are now our steady supporters. One of these 
men, whom our sergeant was the means of bringing 
in, was a professed unbeliever of good standing and 
ability. The first time he was prevailed on to come 
to a prayer-meeting, he sat bolt upright while we 
knelt, being a straightforward sort of man who 
refused to pretend when he could not really pray 
He is now a happy follower of Jesus. 




288 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Our large rooms are constantly filled with soldiers, 
some chatting, some making up for past privations 
by having a good English meal, and others reading 
or playing games. Just now happens to be our 
quietest hour, but it won’t be long before we have 
a bustling scene.” 

As if to verify the lady’s words there came 
through the doorways at that moment a sound of 
shouting and cheering, which caused all the staff of 
the Institute to start into active life. 

“ There they come ! ” exclaimed the lady, with an 
intelligent smile, as she hurried from the room, 
leaving Hardy to follow at a pace that was more 
consistent with his dignity—and, we may add, his 
physical weakness. 

The shouts proceeded from a party of sailors on 
leave from one of the ironclads lying in the harbour. 
These, being out for the day—on a spree as some of 
them styled it—had hired donkeys, and come in a 
body to the Institute, where they knew that food of 
the best, dressed in British fashion, and familiar 
games, were to be had along with British cheer and 
sympathy. 

When Hardy reached the door he found the place 
swarming with bluejackets, trooping up at intervals 
on various animals, but none on foot, save those 
who had fallen off their mounts and were trying to 
get on again. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


289 


“They’re all donkeyfied together” remarked a 
sarcastic old salt—not one of the party—who stood 
beside Hardy, looking complacently on, and smoking 
his pipe. 

“They don’t steer as well on land as on sea,” 
replied Hard)'. 

“ ’Cause they ain’t used to such craft, you see— 
that’s w’ere it is, sarjint,” said the old salt, removing 
his pipe for a moment. “Just look at’em—some 
cornin’ along sidewise like crabs, others stern fore¬ 
most. W’y, there’s that grey craft wi’ the broad 
little man holdin’ on to its tail to prevent his slidin’ 
over its head. I’ve watched that grey craft for 
some minutes, and its hind propellers have bin so 
often in the air that it do seem as if it was walkin’ 
upon its front legs. Hallo! I was sure he’d go 
down by the head at last.” 

The donkey in question had indeed gone down by 
the head, and rolled over, pitching its rider on his 
broad shoulders, which, however, seemed none the 
worse for the fall. 

“ Ketch hold of his tail, Bill,” cried another man, 
“ and hold his stern down—see if that won’t cure 
his plungin’. He’s like a Dutchman in a cross 
sea.” 

“Keep clear o’ this fellow’s heels. Jack, he’s 
agoin’ to fire another broadside.” 

“If he does he’ll unship you,” cried Jack, who 
T 





290 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


was himself at the same moment unshipped, while 
the owner of the donkey, and of the other donkeys, 
shouted advice, if nothing worse, in Arabic and 
broken English. 

In a few minutes the sailors “boarded” the 
Institute, and drew the whole force of the establish¬ 
ment to the bar in order to supply the demand. 

“ Ah! thin, ye ’ve got Irish whisky, haven’t ye ? ” 
demanded a facetious seaman. 

“ Yes, plenty, but we call it coffee here!” answered 
the equally facetious barman, whose satellites were 
distributing hot and cold drinks with a degree of 
speed that could only be the fruit of much practice. 

“You’ll have to be jolly on mild swipes,” said 
one; f no tostikatin’ liquors allowed, Dick.” 



’’in ! ” growled Dick. 


“ uot any wittles here ? ” demanded another man, 
wiping his lips with his sleeve. 

“Yes, plenty. Sit down and order what you 
want.” 

“Eor nothin’ ?” asked the tar. 

“ Eor next to nothing! ” was the prompt reply. 

Meanwhile, those whose appetites were not quite 
so urgent had distributed themselves about the 
place, and were already busy with draughts, billiards, 
etc., while those who were of more sedate and 
inquiring temperament were deep in the columns of 
the English papers and magazines. 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


291 


“ I say, Fred Thorley, ain’t it bang up ? ” remarked 
a sturdy little man, through a huge slice of cake, 
with which he had just filled his mouth. 

“ Fuss-rate! ” responded Fred, as he finished a 
cup of coffee at a draught and called for more. 
“ Didn’t I tell you, Sam, that you’d like it better 
than the native grog-shops ? ” 

“ If they’d on’y got bitter beer! ” sighed Sam. 

“ They’ve got better beer,” said his friend; “ try 
some ginger-pop.” 

“ No thankee. If I can’t git it strong, let’s at least 
have it hot. But, I say, what’s come o’ the lobsters ? 
Don’t seem to be many about. I thought this here 
Institoot was got up a-purpose for them” 

“So it was, lad, includin’ us\ but you don’t 
suppose that because you are out on the spree, every¬ 
body else is. They’re on dooty just now. Wait 
a bit an’ you ’ll see plenty of ’em afore long.” 

“Are all that come here Blue Lights?” asked 
Sam, with a somewhat doleful visage. 

“ By no manner o' means,” returned his friend s 
with a laugh; “ tho’ for the matter o’ that they 
wouldn’t be worse men if they was, but many 
of ’em are no better than they should be, an’ d’ee 
know, Sam, there are some of ’em actually as great 
blackguards a’most as yourself! ” 

“ There’s some comfort in that anyhow,” returned 
Sam, with a pleasant smile, “ for I hates to be 



292 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


pecooliar. By the way, Fred, p’r’aps they may be 
able to give you some noos here, if you ax ’em, about 
your friend Jack Molloy. He was a Blue Light, 
wasn’t he ?” 

“ Not w’en I know’d ’im, but he was a fuss-rate 
seaman an’ a good friend, though he ivas fond of 
his glass, like yourself, Sam.” 

It chanced that at this point Sergeant Hardy, in 
moving about the place, taking profound interest 
in all that he saw, came within earshot of the two 
friends, to whom he at once went up and intro¬ 
duced himself as a friend of Jack Molloy. 

“ Indeed,” said he, “ Molloy and I fought pretty 
near to each other in that last affair under General 
M'Neill, so I can give you the latest news of 
him.” 

“ Can you, old man ? Come, sit down here, an’ 
let’s have it then,” said Thorley. “ Jack was an old 
messmate o’ mine. What’ll you take to drink, 
mate ? ” 

“Nothing, thankee. I’m allowanced by the 
doctor even in the matter o’ tea and coffee,” said the 
sergeant. “ As to bein’ an’ old man—well, I ain’t 
much older than yourself, I daresay, though wounds 
and sickness and physic are apt to age a man in 
looks.” 

Sitting down beside the sailors, Hardy told of the 
great fight at M‘Neill’s zereba, and how Molloy and 



















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THE FAMILIAR NOTES OF “HOME SWEET HOME.”— Page 293. 






























































































































































HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


293 


others of his friends had gone to rescue a comrade 
and been cut off. He relieved Fred’s mind, however, 
by taking the most hopeful view of the matter, as 
he had previously relieved the feelings of Marion. 
And then the three fell to chatting on things in 
general and the war in particular. 

“Now don’t this feel homelike ?” said Sam, look¬ 
ing round the room with great satisfaction. “If 
it wasn’t for the heat I’d a’most think we was in 
a temperance coffee-house in old England.” 

“Or owld Ireland,” chimed in a sailor at the 
neighbouring table. 

“To say naething o’ auld Scotland,” added a 
rugged man in red hair, who sat beside him. 

“Well, messmate,” assented Fred, “it do feel 
homelike, an’ no mistake. Why, what ever is 
that t ” 

The sailor paused, and held up a finger as if to 
impose silence while he listened, but there was no 
need to enforce silence, for at that moment the 
sweet strains of a harmonium were heard at the 
other end of the long room, and quietude profound 
descended on the company as a rich baritone voice 
sang, with wonderful pathos, the familiar notes and 
words of “ Home, Sweet Home ! ” 

Before that song was finished many a warrior 
there had to fight desperately with his own spirit to 
conceal the fact that his eyes were full of tears. 



294 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Indeed, not a few of them refused to fight at all, 
but, ingloriously lowering their colours, allowed 
the tell-tale drops to course over their bronzed 
faces, as they thought of sweethearts and wives 
and friends and home circles and “the light of 
other days.” 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


295 


CHAPTER XXII. 

LED INTO CAPTIVITY. 

We turn once more to the Nubian desert, where, 
it will be remembered, we left several of our friends, 
cut off from McNeill’s zereba at a critical moment 
when they were all but overwhelmed by a host of 
foes. 

The grand-looking Arab who had so opportunely 
appeared on the scene and arrested the spears which 
were about to finish the career of Jack Molloy was 
no other than the man who had been saved by Miles 
from the bullet of his comrade Rattling Bill. A 
kind act had in this case received its appropriate 
reward, for a brief though slight glance, and a 
gracious inclination of the Arab’s head, convinced 
our hero that the whole party owed their lives to 
this man’s gratitude. 

They were not however exempt from indignity, 
for at the moment when Jack Molloy fell they were 
overwhelmed by numbers, their arms were wrenched 
from their grasp, and their hands were bound behind 
their backs. Thus they were led, the reverse of 


296 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


gently, into the thick bush by a strong party of 
natives, while the others, headed by the black- 
bearded chief, continued their attack on the zereba. 

It soon became evident that the men who had 
charge of the prisoners did not share, or sympathise 
with, the feelings of the chief who had spared their 
lives, for they not only forced them to hurry forward 
as fast as they could go, but gave them occasional 
pricks with their spear-points when any of them 
chanced to trip or stumble. One of the warriors in 
particular—a fiery man—sometimes struck them 
with the shaft of his spear and otherwise maltreated 
them. It may be easily understood that men with 
unbroken spirits and high courage did not submit 
to this treatment with a good grace ! 

Miles was the first to be tested in this way. On 
reaching a piece of broken ground his foot caught in 
something and he stumbled forward. His hands being 
bound behind him he could not protect his head, 
and the result was that he plunged into a prickly' 
shrub, out of which he arose with flushed and bleed¬ 
ing countenance. This was bad enough, but when 
the fiery Arab brought a lance down heavily on his 
shoulders his temper gave way, and he rushed at the 
man in a towering rage, striving at the same time, 
with intense violence, to burst his bonds. Of course 
he failed, and was rewarded by a blow on the head, 
which for a moment or two stunned him. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


297 


Seeing this, Armstrong’s power of restraint gave 
way, and he sprang to the rescue of his friend, but 
only to meet the same fate at the hands of the fiery 
Arab. 

Stunned and bleeding, though not subdued, they 
were compelled to move on again at the head of the 
party—spurred on now and then by a touch from 
the point of the fiery man’s lance. Indeed it seemed 
as if this man’s passionate nature would induce him 
ere long to risk his chief’s wrath by disobeying 
orders and stabbing the prisoners ! - 

Stevenson, the marine, was the next to suffer, for 
his foot slipped on a stone, and he fell with such 
violence as to be unable to rise for a few minutes. 
Impatient of the delay, the fiery man struck him so 
savagely with the spear-shaft that even his own 
comrades remonstrated. 

“ If I could only burst this cord ! ” growled Sim- 
kin between his teeth, “ I’d-” 

He stopped, for he felt that it was unmanly, as 
well as idle, to boast in the circumstances. 

“We must have patience, comrade,” said Steven¬ 
son, as he rose pale and bloodstained from the 
ground. “ Our Great Captain sometimes gives us 
the order to submit and suffer and-” 

A prick in the fleshy part of his thigh caused him 
to stop abruptly. 

At this point the endurance of Jack Molloy failed 




298 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


him, and he also “ went in M for violent action! But 
Jack was a genius as well as a sailor, and profited 
by the failures of his comrades. Instead of making 
futile efforts to break his bonds like them, he 
lowered his hairy head, and, with a howl and a tre¬ 
mendous rush, like a fish-torpedo, launched himself, 
or, as it were, took “ a header,” into the fiery man! 

“No fellow,” as J ack himself afterwards remarked, 
“could receive fifteen stun ten into his bread-basket 
and go on smiling! ” On the contrary, he went 
down like a nine-pin, and remained where he fell, 
for his comrades—who evidently did not love him— 
merely laughed and went on their way, leaving him 
to revive at his leisure. 

The prisoners advanced somewhat more cheerfully 
after this event, for, besides being freed from pricks 
of the spear-point, there was that feeling of elation 
which usually arises in every well-balanced mind 
from the sight of demerit meeting with its appropri¬ 
ate reward. 

The region over which they were thus led, or 
driven, was rather more varied than the level country 
behind them, and towards evening it changed still 
further, becoming more decidedly hill country. At 
night the party found themselves in the neighbour¬ 
hood of one of the all-important wells of the land, 
beside which they encamped under a small tree. 

Here the prisoners were allowed to sit down on 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


299 


the ground, with one man to guard them, while the 
others kindled a fire and otherwise arranged the 
encampment. 

Supper—consisting of a small quantity of boiled 
corn and dried flesh—was given to the prisoners, 
whose hands were set free, though their elbows were 
loosely lashed together, and their feet tied to prevent 
their escape. No such idea, however, entered into 
the heads of any of them, for they were by that time 
in the heart of an unknown range of hills, in a 
country which swarmed with foes, besides which, 
they would not have known in what direction to 
fly had they been free to do so; they possessed 
neither arms, ammunition, nor provisions, and were 
at the time greatly exhausted by their forced march. 

Perhaps Jack Molloy was the only man of the 
unfortunate party who at that moment retained 
either the wish or the power to make a dash for 
freedom. But then Jack was an eccentric and ex¬ 
ceptional man in every respect. Nothing could 
quell his spirit, and it was all but impossible to 
subdue his body. He was what we may term a 
composite character. His frame was a mixture of 
gutta-percha, leather, and brass. His brain was a 
compound of vivid fancy and slow perception. His 
heart was a union of highly inflammable oil and deeply 
impressible butter, with something remarkably tough 
in the centre of it. Had he been a Bed Indian he 




300 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


would have been a chief. If born a nigger he would 
have been a king. In the tenth century he might 
have been a Sea-king or something similar. Born 
as he was in the nineteenth century, he was only a 
Jack-tar and a hero ! 

It is safe to conclude that if Molloy had been set 
free that evening with a cutlass in his hand he 
would—after supper of course—have attacked single- 
handed the united band of forty Arabs, killed at 
least ten of them, and left the remaining thirty to 
mourn over their mangled bodies and the loss of 
numerous thumbs and noses, to say nothing of other 
wounds and bruises. 

Luckily for his comrades he was not free that 
night. 

“ Boys,” said he, after finishing his scanty meal, 
and resting on an elbow as he looked contemplatively 
up at the stars which were beginning to twinkle in 
the darkening sky, “ it do seem to me, now that I’ve 
had time to think over it quietly, that our only 
chance o’ gittin’ out o’ this here scrape is to keep 
quiet, an’ pretend that we’re uncommon fond of 
our dear Arab friends, till we throws ’em off their 
guard, an’ then, some fine night, give ’em the slip 
an’ make sail across the desert for Suakim.” 

“ No doubt you ’re right,” answered Miles, with a 
sigh, for, being tired and sleepy just then, he was 
not nearly as sanguine as the seaman, “ but I have 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 301 

not much hope of gaining their confidence—espe¬ 
cially after your acting the thunderbolt so effectively 
on one of them.” 

“ Why, man alive ! they won’t mind that. It was 
all in the way of fair fight,” said Molloy; “ an’ the 
rascal was no favourite, I could see that.” 

“ It’s a wonder to me you could see anything at 
all after such a ram ! ” remarked Moses Pyne, with 
a yawn, as he lay bach and rested his head on a 
tuft of grass. “ The shock seemed to me fit to sink 
an ironclad.” 

“But why pretend to be fond of the Arabs?” 
asked Stevenson. “Don’t you think it would be 
sufficient that we should obey orders quietly without 
any humbug or pretence at all about it, till a chance 
to escape shall come in our way ? ” 

“ Don’t you think, Stevenson,” said Miles, “ that 
there’s a certain amount of humbug and pretence 
even in quiet obedience to orders, when such 
obedience is not the result of submission, but of a 
desire to throw people off their guard ? ” 

“ But my obedience is the result of submission,” 
returned the marine stoutly. “ I do really submit— 
first, because it is God’s will, for I cannot help it; 
second, because it is the only course that will enable 
me to escape bad treatment; third, because I wish 
to gain the good-will of the men who have me in 
their power whether I escape or not; and, fourth-” 







302 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Hallo! old man, how many heads are you goin’ 
to give us in that there sermon ? ” asked Moses. 

“ This is the last head, Moses, and you needn’t be 
anxious, for I ain’t going to enlarge on any of ’em. 
My fourth reason is, that by doing as common-sense 
bids me, our foes will be brought thereby to that 
state of mind which will be favourable to everything 
—our escape included—and I can’t help that, you 
know. It ain’t my fault if they become trustful, 
is it?” 

“No, nor it ain’t no part o’ your dooty to spoil 
their trustfulness by failin’ to take advantage of it,” 
said Molloy, with a grin; “ but it do seem to me, 
Stevenson, as if there wor a strong smack ’o the 
Jesuit in what you say.” 

“ I hope not,” replied the marine. “ Anyhow, no 
one would expect me, surely, to go an’ say straight 
out to these fellows, ‘ I’m goin’ to obey orders an’ be 
as meek as a lamb, in order to throw you off your 
guard an’ bolt when I get the chance! ’” 

“ Cer’nly not. ’Cause why ? Firstly, you couldn’t 
say it at all till you’d learned Arabic,” returned 
Molloy; “secondly—if I may be allowed for to 
follow suit an’ sermonise—’cause you shouldn’t say 
it if you could; an’, thirdly, ’cause you’d be a most 
awful Jack-ass to say it if you did. Now, it’s my 
advice, boys, that we go to sleep, for we won’t have an 
easy day of it to-morrow, if I may judge from to-day.” 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


303 


Having delivered this piece of advice with much 
decision, the seaman extended himself at full length 
on the ground, and went to sleep with a pleased 
smile on his face, as if the desert sand had been 
his familiar couch from infancy. 

Some of the other members of the unfortunate 
party were not, however, quite so ready for sleep. 
Miles and his friend Armstrong sat long talking 
over their fate—which they mutually agreed was a 
very sad one; but at last, overcome by exhaustion, if 
not anxiety, they sank into much-needed repose, and 
the only sound that broke the stillness of the night 
was the tread of the Arab sentinel as he paced 
slowly to and fro. 

The country, as they advanced, became more and 
more rugged, until they found themselves at last in 
the midst of a hill region, in the valleys of which 
there grew a considerable amount of herbage and 
underwood. The journey here became very severe 
to the captives, for, although they did not suffer 
from thirst so much as on the plains, the difficulty of 
ascending steep and rugged paths with their hands 
bound was very great. It is true the position of the 
hands was changed, for after the second day they had 
been bound in front of them, but this did not 
render their toil easy, though it was thereby made a 
little less laborious. 

By this time the captives had learned from 




304 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


experience that if they wished to avoid the spear* 
points they must walk in advauce of their captors 
at a very smart pace. Fortunately, being all strong 
and healthy men, they were well able to do so. 

Battling Bill, perhaps, suffered most, although, 
after Molloy, he was physically one of the strongest 
of the party. 

Observing that he lagged behind a little on one 
occasion while they were traversing a somewhat 
level valley, Stevenson offered him his arm. 

“ Don’t be ashamed to take it, old boy,” said the 
marine kindly, as his comrade hesitated. “You 
know, a fellow sometimes feels out o’ sorts, and not 
up to much, however stout he may be when well, so 
just you lay hold, for somehow I happen to feel as 
strong as an elephant to-day.” 

“ But I ain't ill,” returned Simkin, still declining, 
“ and I don’t see why I shouldn’t be as able as you 
are to carry my own weight.” 

“Of course you are better able to do it than I 
am, in a general way,” returned his friend, “ but I 
said that sometimes, you know, a fellow gives in, 
he don’t well know why or how, an’ then, of course, 
his comrades that are still strong are bound to help 
him. Here, hook on and pocket your pride. You ’ll 
have to do the same thing for me to-morrow, may¬ 
hap, when I give in. And if it does come to that 
I ’ll lean heavy, I promise you.” 




HOT WOKK IN THE SOUDAN. 


305 


“You’re a good fellow, Stevenson, even though 
you are a Blue Light,” said Simkin,-taking the prof¬ 
fered arm. 

“ Perhaps it’s because I am a Blue Light,” returned 
the marine, with a laugh. “At all events, it is 
certain that whatever good there may be about me 
at all is the result of that Light which is as free to 
you as to me.” 

For some minutes the couple walked along in 
silence. At last Battling Bill spoke. 

“I wonder,” he said, “why it is that a young 
and healthy fellow like me should break down 
sooner than you, Stevenson, for I’m both bigger 
and stronger—and yet, look at us now. Ain’t it 
strange ? I wonder why it is.” 

“ It is strange, indeed,” returned the marine quietly. 
“ P’r’aps the climate suits me better than you.” 

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” said Simkin, 
almost testily. “ Why don’t you say that drink is 
the cause of it—straight out, like a man ?” 

“ Because I knew you were saying that to your¬ 
self, lad, so there was no need for me to say it,” 
returned his friend, with a side-glance and a twinkle 
of the eyes. 

“Well, whoever says it, it’s a fact,” continued 
Simkin, almost sternly, “an’ I make no bones of 
admitting it. I have bin soakin’ away, right and 
left, since I came to this country, in spite o’ warnin’s 
u 




306 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


from you and other men like you, and now I feel 
as if all my boasted strength was goin’ out at my 
heels.” 

Stevenson was'silent. 

“Why don’t you say 'I told you so’?” asked 
Simkin, sharply. 

“ Because I never say that! It only riles people; 
besides,” continued the marine, earnestly, “ I was 
asking God at the moment to enable me to answer 
you wisely. You see, I think it only fair to reveal 
some of my private thoughts to you , since you are 
making a father-confessor of me. But as you admit 
that drink has done you damage, my dear fellow, 
there is no need for me to say anything more on 
that subject. What you want now is encouragement 
as to the future and advice as to the present. Shall 
I give you both just now, or shall I wait ?” 

Commence firing ’! ” replied Simkin, with a half- 
jesting smile. 

“ Well, then, as to encouragement,” said Stevenson. 
“ A point of vital importance with men who have 
gone in for drink as much as you have is—total 
abstinence; and I regard it as an evidence of God’s 
love to you that He has brought you here-” 

“God’s love that brought me here /” exclaimed 
the soldier in surprise. “ Well, that is a view o’ the 
case that don’t seem quite plain.” 

“ Plain enough if you open your eyes wide enough. 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


307 


See here : If you was in camp now, with your 
present notions, and was to determine to give up 
drink, you’d have to face and fight two most tre¬ 
mendous devils. One devil is called Craving, the 
other is called Temptation, and all the Arabs in the 
Soudan rolled into one are not so terrible or so strong 
as these two when a man is left to fight them by 
himself. Now, is it not a sign of our Father’s love 
that he has, by bringing you here, removed the devil 
Temptation entirely out of your way, for you can’t 
get strong drink here for love or money. So, you 
see, you have only got Craving to fight, and that’s 
encouraging, ain’t it ? ” 

“ D’ ye know, I believe you are not far wrong,” 
said Simkin, gravely; “ and it is encouraging to 
know that Temptation’s out o’ the way, for I feel 
that the other devil has got me by the throat even 
now, and that it’s him as has weakened me so 
much.” 

“ That’s it, friend. You *ve got the truth by the 
tail now, so hold on; but, at the same time, don’t 
be too hard on Craving. It’s not his fault that he’s 
here. You have poured liquor down your throat to 
him daily, and cultivated his acquaintance, and 
helped him to increase his strength regularly, for 
many months—it may be for years. I don’t want 
to be hard on you, lad, but it’s of no use shiftin’ the 
burden on to the wrong shoulders. It is not Craving 



308 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


but you who are the sinner. Now, as to advice : do 
you really want it ?” 

“Well,” replied Simkin, with a “humph!” “it 
will be time enough for you to shut up when I 
sound the ‘ cease firing ’J ” 

“ My advice, then, is that you go down on your 
knees, plead guilty straight off, and ask for grace to 
help you in your time of need.” 

“ What! go down on my knees here before all 
them Arabs ? If I did, they’d not only laugh *at 
me, but they’d soon rouse me up with their 
spears.” 

“ I ’in not so sure about that, Simkin. Arabs are 
accustomed to go on their own knees a good deal in 
public. It is chiefly Christians who, strange to say, 
are ashamed to be caught in that position at odd 
times. But I speak not of ceremonies, but of reali¬ 
ties. A man may go on his knees, without bending 
a joint, any time and everywhere. Now, listen: 
there is this difference between the courts of men 
and the court of heaven, that in the former, when a 
man pleads guilty, his sentence is only modified and 
softened, but in the latter, the man who pleads 
guilty receives a free pardon and ultimate deliver¬ 
ance from all sin for the sake of Jesus Christ. Will 
you accept this deliverance, my friend ?” 

What the soldier replied in his heart we cannot 
tell, for his voice was silent. Before the conversa- 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


309 


tion could be resumed a halt was called, to partake 
of the midday meal and rest. 

That evening the party came upon a strange and 
animated scene. It was one of the mountain camps 
of Osman Digna, where men were assembling from 
all quarters to swell the hordes with which their 
chief hoped to drive the hated Europeans into the 
Eed Sea. Camels and other beasts of burden were 
bringing in supplies for the vast army, and to this 
spot had been brought the poor fellows who had 
been wounded in recent battles. 

Here the captives were thrust into a small dark 
hut and left to their meditations, while a couple of 
Arab sentries guarded the door. 


310 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

SHOWS THAT SUFFERING TENDS TO DRAW OUT SYMPATHY. 

The word captivity , even when it refers to civilised 
lands and peoples, conveys, we suspect, but a feeble 
and incorrect idea to the minds of those who have 
never been in a state of personal bondage. Still less 
do we fully appreciate its dread significance when it 
refers to foreign lands and barbarous people. 

It was not so much the indignities to which the 
captive Britons were subjected that told upon them 
ultimately, as the hard, grinding, restless toil, and 
the insufficient food and rest—sometimes accom¬ 
panied with absolute corporeal pain. 

“ A merciful man is merciful to his beast.” There 
is not much of mercy to his beast in an Arab. We 
have seen an Arab, in Algiers, who made use of a 
sore on his donkey’s back as a sort of convenient 
spur ! It is exhausting to belabour a thick-skinned 
and obstinate animal with a stick. It is much 
easier, and much more effective, to tickle up a sore, 
kept open for the purpose, with a little bit of stick, 




HOT WOliK IN THE SOUDAN. 


311 


while comfortably seated on the creature’s back. 
The fellow we refer to did that. We do not say or 
think that all Arabs are cruel; very far from it, but 
we hold that, as a race, they are so. Their great 
prophet taught them cruelty by example and pre¬ 
cept, and the records of history, as well as of the 
African slave-trade, bear witness to the fact that 
their “tender mercies” are not and never have 
been conspicuous! 

At first, as we have shown, indignities told pretty 
severely on the unfortunate Englishmen. But as 
time went on, and they were taken further and 
further into the interior, and heavy burdens were 
daily bound on their shoulders, and the lash was 
frequently applied to urge them on, the keen sense 
of insult which had at first stirred them into wild 
anger became blunted, and at last they reached that 
condition of partial apathy which renders men 
almost indifferent to everything save rest and food. 
Even the submissive Stevenson was growing callous. 
In short, that process had begun which usually ends 
in making men either brutes or martyrs. 

As before, we must remark that Jack Molloy was 
to some extent an exception. It did seem as if 
nothing but death itself could subdue that remark¬ 
able man. His huge frame was so powerful that he 
seemed to be capable of sustaining any weight his 
tyrants chose to put upon him. And the influence 



312 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


of hope was so strong within him that it raised him 
almost entirely above the region of despondency. 

This was fortunate for his comrades in misfortune, 
for it served to keep up their less vigorous spirits. 

There was one thing about the seaman, however, 
which they could not quite reconcile with his 
known character. This was a tendency to groan 
heavily when he was being loaded. To be sure, 
there was not much reason for wonder, seeing that 
the Arabs forced the Herculean man to carry nearly 
double the weight borne by any of his companions, 
but then, as Miles once confidentially remarked to 
Armstrong, “ I thought that Jack Molloy would 
rather have died than have groaned on account of 
the weight of his burden; but, after all, it is a 
tremendously heavy one—poor fellow! ” 

One day the Arabs seemed to be filled with an 
unusual desire to torment their victims. A man 
had passed the band that day on a fast dromedary, 
and the prisoners conjectured that he might have 
brought news of some defeat of their friends, which 
would account for their increased cruelty. They 
were particularly hard on Molloy that day, as if 
they regarded him as typical of British strength, 
and, therefore, an appropriate object of revenge. 
After the midday rest, they not only put on him 
his ordinary burden, but added to the enormous 
weight considerably, so that the poor fellow stag- 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


313 


gered under it, and finally fell down beneath it, 
with a very dismal groan indeed! 

Of course the lash was at once applied, and under 
its influence the sailor rose with great difficulty, 
and staggered forward a few paces, but only to fall 
again. This time, however, he did not wait for the 
lash, but made very determined efforts of his own 
accord to rise and advance, without showing the 
smallest sign of resentment. Even his captors 
seemed touched, for one of them removed a small 
portion of his burden, so that, thereafter, the poor 
fellow proceeded with less difficulty, though still 
with a little staggering and an occasional groan. 

That night they reached a village near the banks 
of a broad river, where they put up for the night. 
After their usual not too heavy supper was over, 
the prisoners were thrust into a sort of hut or 
cattle-shed, and left to make themselves as com¬ 
fortable as they could on the bare floor. 

“I don’t feel quite so much inclined for sleep 
to-night,” said Miles to Molloy. ' 

“No more do I,” remarked the sailor, stretching 
himself like a wearied Goliath on the earthen floor, 
and placing his arms under his head for a pillow. 

“I feel pretty well used up too,” said Simldn, 
throwing himself down with a sigh that was more 
eloquent than his tongue. He was indeed anything 
but Rattling Bill by that time. 


314 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Moses Pyne being, like his great namesake, a 
meek man, sympathised with the others, but said 
nothing about himself, though his looks betrayed 
him. Armstrong and Stevenson were silent. They 
seemed too much exhausted to indulge in speech. 

“ Poor fellow ! ” said Moses to Molloy, “ I don’t 
wonder you are tired, for you not only carried twice 
as much as any of us, but you took part of my load. 
Indeed he did, comrades,” added Moses, turning to 
his friends with an apologetic air. “ I didn’t want 
him to do it, but he jerked part o’ my load suddenly 
out o’ my hand an’ wouldn’t give it up again ; an’ ? 
you know, I didn’t dare to make a row, for that 
would have brought the lash down on both of us. 
But I didn’t want him to carry so much, an’ him 
so tired.” 

“ Tired! ” exclaimed the sailor, with a loud lau^h. 
“Why, I warn’t tired a bit. An’, you know, 
you’d have dropped down, Moses, if I hadn’t helped 
ye at that time.” 

“Well, I confess I was ready to drop,” returned 
Moses, with a humbled look; “ but I would much 
rather have dropped than have added to your 
burden. How can you say you wasn’t tired when 
you had fallen down only five minutes before, an’ 
groaned heavily when you rose, and your legs 
trembled so ? I could see it! ” 

To this the seaman’s only reply was the expansion 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


315 


of his huge hut handsome mouth, the display of 
magnificent teeth, the disappearance of both eyes, 
and a prolonged quiet chuckle. 

“Why, what’s the matter with you, Jack?” 
asked Stevenson. 

“ Nothin’’s the matter wi’ me, old man—’cept-* 

Here he indulged in another chuckle. 

“Goin’ mad, with over-fatigue,” said Simkin, 
looking suspiciously at him. 

“Ay, that’s it, messmate, clean mad wi’ over¬ 
fatigue.” 

He wiped his eyes with the hairy back of his hand, 
for the chuckling, being hearty, had produced a few 
tears. 

“No, but really, Jack, what is it you ’re laughing 
at ? ” asked Armstrong. “If there is a joke you might 
as well let us have the benefit of laughing along wi’ 
you, for we stand much in need of something to 
cheer us here.” 

“ Well, Billy boy, I may as well make a clean 
breast of it,” said Molloy, raising himself on one 
elbow and becoming grave. “ I do confess to feelin’ 
raither ashamed o’ myself, but you mustn’t be hard 
on me, lads, for circumstances alters cases, you 
know, as Solomon said—leastwise if it warn’t him 
it was Job or somebody else. The fact is, I ’ve bin 
shammin’, mates! ” 

“ Shamming! ” 



316 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Ay, shammin’ weak. Pur tendin’ that I was 
shaky on the legs, an’ so not quite up to the cargo 
they were puttin’ aboard o’ me.” 

“If what you’ve been doing means shamming 
weak, I’d like to see you coming out strong ,” 
observed Miles, with a short laugh. 

“Well, p’r’aps you’ll see that too some day,” 
returned the sailor, with an amiable look. 

“ But do you really mean that all that groaning 
—which I confess to have been surprised at—was 
mere pretence ? ” 

“ All sham. Downright sneakin’! ” said Molloy. 
“ The short an’ the long of it is, that I see’d ,from 
the first the on’y way to humbug them yellow-faced 
baboons was to circumwent ’em. So I set to work 
at the wery beginnin’.” 

“ Ah, by takin’ a header,” said Simkin, “ into one 
o’ their bread-baskets! ” 

“No, no !” returned the seaman, “that, I confess, 
was a mistake. But you ’ll admit, I’ve made no 
more mistakes o’ the same sort since then. You see, 
I perceived that, as my strength is considerable 
above the average, the baboons would be likely to 
overload me, so, arter profound excogitation wi’ my¬ 
self, I made up my mind what to do, an’ when they 
had clapped on a little more than the rest o’ you 
carried I began to groan, then I began to shake a bit 
in my timbers, an’ look as if I was agoin’ to founder. 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


317 


It didn’t check ’em much, for they ’re awful cruel, 
so I went fairly down by the head. I had a pretty 
fair guess that this would bring the lash about my 
shoulders, an’ I was right, but I got up wery slowly 
an’ broken-down-like, so that the baboons was fairly 
humbugged, and stopped loadin’ of me long afore I’d 
taken in a full cargo—so, you see, boys, I’ve bin 
sailin’ raither light than otherwise.” 

“But do you mean to tell me that the load 
you ’ve bin carry in’ is not too heavy for you ? ” asked 
Moses. 

“ That’s just what I does mean to tell you, lad. 
I could carry a good deal more, an’ dance with it. 
You see, they ain’t used to men o’ my size, so I 
was able to humbug ’em into a miscalkilation. I 
on’y wish I could have helped you all to do the 
same, but they’re too ’cute, as the Yankees say. 
Anyway, Moses, you don’t need to trouble your 
head when I gives you a helpin’ hand again.” 

“Ah, that expression, ‘a helping hand,’ sounds 
familiar in my ears,” said Stevenson, in a sad tone. 

“ Yes, what do it recall, lad ? ” asked Molloy, 
extending himself again on his broad back. 

“It recalls places and friends in Portsmouth, 
Jack, that we may never again set eyes on. You 
remember the Institoot ? Well, they’ve got a new 
branch o’ the work there for the surrounding civilian 
poor, called the Helping Hand. You see, Miss 




318 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Robinson understands us soldiers out and out. 
She knew that those among us who gave up drink 
and sin, and put on the blue ribbon, were not gom 
to keep all the benefit to ourselves. She knew that 
we understood the meaning of the word ‘ enlist.’ 
That we’d think very little o’ the poor-spirited 
fellow who’d take the Queen’s shillin’ and put on 
her uniform, and then shirk fightin’ her battles and 
honouring her flag. So when some of us put on 
the Lord’s uniform—which, like that of the Austrians, 
is white—and unfurled His flag, she knew we’d 
soon be wantin’ to fight His battles against sin— 
especially against drink; so instead of lookin’ after 
our welfare alone, she encouraged us to hold out a 
helpin' hand to the poorest and most miserable 
people in Portsmouth, an’ she found us ready to 
answer to the call.” 

“ Ah, they was grand times, these,” continued the 
marine, with kindly enthusiasm, as he observed that 
his comrades in sorrow were becoming interested, 
and forgetting for the moment their own sorrows 
and sufferings. “The Blue- Ribbon move was 
strong in Portsmouth at the time, and many of the 
soldiers and sailors joined it. Some time after we had 
held out a helping hand to the poor civilians, we took 
it into our heads to invite some of ’em to a grand 
tea-fight in the big hall, so we asked a lot o’ the 
poorest who had faithfully kept the pledge through 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


319 


their first teetotal Christmas; and it vms a scrimmage, 
I can tell you. We got together more than forty of 
’em, men and women, and there were about three 
hundred soldiers and sailors, and their wives to wait 
on ’em an’ keep ’em company!” 

“ Capital! ” exclaimed Miles, who had a sympa¬ 
thetic spirit—especially for the poor. 

“ Good—good ! ” said Molloy, nodding his head. 
“ That was the right thing to do, an’ I suppose they 
enjoyed theirselves ? ” 

“ Enjoyed themselves ! ” exclaimed the marine, 
with a laugh. “I should just think they did. 
Trust Miss Eobinson for knowin’ how to make poor 
folk enjoy themselves—and, for the matter of that, 
rich folk too ! How they did stuff, to be sure! 
Many of ’em, poor things, hadn’t got such a blow¬ 
out in all their lives before. You see, they was the 
very poorest of the poor. You may believe what I 
say, for I went round myself with one o’ the 
Institoot ladies to invite ’em, and I do declare to 
you that I never saw even pigs or dogs in such a 
state of destitootion—nothin’ whatever to lie on 
but the bare boards.” 

“ You don’t say so ? ” murmured Moses, with deep 
commiseration, and seemingly oblivious of the fact 
that he was himself pretty much in similar destitu¬ 
tion at that moment. 

“ Indeed I do. Look here,” continued the marine, 


320 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


becoming more earnest as he went on ; “ thousands 
of people don’t know—can’t understand—what 
misery and want and suffering is going on around 
’em. City missionaries and the like tell ’em about 
it, and write about it, but telling and writin’ don't 
make people know some things. They must see, ay, 
sometimes they must feel, before they can rightly 
understand. 

“ One of the rooms we visited,” continued 
Stevenson, in pathetic tones, “belonged to a poor 
old couple who had been great drinkers, but had 
been induced to put on the blue ribbon. It was a 
pigeon-hole of a room, narrow, up a dark stair. 
They had no means of support. The room was 
empty. Everything had been pawned. The last 
thing given up was the woman’s shawl to pay the 
rent, and they were starving.” 

“Why didn’t they go to the work’us?” asked 
Simkin. 

“’Cause the workhouse separates man and wife, 
in defiance of the Divine law—‘Whom God hath 
joined together let no man put asunder.’ They was 
fond of each other, was that old man and woman, 
and had lived long together, an’ didn’t want to part 
till death. So they had managed to stick to the old 
home, ay, and they had stuck to their colours, for the 
bit o’ blue was still pinned to the tattered coat o’ the 
man and the thin gown o’ the woman (neither coat 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


321 


nor gown would fetch anything at the pawn-shop!), 
and there was no smell o’ drink in the room. Well, 
that old couple went to the tea-fight. It was a bitter 
cold night, but they came all the same, with nothing 
to cover the woman’s thin old arms. 

“ The moment they appeared, away went one o’ 
Miss Robinson’s workers to the room where they 
keep chests full of clothes sent by charitable folk to 
the Institoot, an’ you should have seen that old 
woman’s wrinkled face when the worker returned 
wi’ the thickest worsted shawl she could lay hold of, 
an’ put it on her shoulders as tenderly as if the old 
woman had been her own mother! At the same time 
they gave a big-coat to the old man.” 

“ But, I say,” interrupted Simkin, “ that Christ¬ 
mas feed an’ shawl an’ coat wouldn’t keep the 
couple for a twel’month, if they was sent home to 
starve as before, would it ? ” 

“ Of course not,” returned the marine, “ but they 
wasn’t sent off to starve; they was looked after. Ay, 
an’ the people o’ the whole neighbourhood are now 
looked after, for Miss Robinson has bought up a 
grog-shop in Nobbs Lane—one o’ the worst places 
in Portsmouth—an’-converted it into a temperance 
coffee-house, wi’ lots of beds to send people to when 
the Institoot overflows, an’ a soup-kitchen for the 
destitoot poor, an’ a washus for them and the soldiers’ 
wives, an’, in short, it has changed the whole place; 


x 





322 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


but if I go on like this 111 send Moses to sleep, 
for I’ve heard 1m smotherin’ his yowns more than 
once a’ready! ” 

“It’s not for want of interest in what you’re 
sayin’ though, old man,” returned Moses, with a 
tremendous unsmothered yawn, which of course set 
all his comrades off, and confirmed them in the 
belief that it was time to seek repose. 

Scarcely a single comment was made on the 
narrative, as each laid his weary head on his 
arm or on a folded garment, and stretched himself 
out on the hard ground, in nearly as destitute a 
condition as the poor folk about whom they had 
been hearing; for while their bed was as hard as 
theirs, and the covering as scant, the meal they had 
recently consumed was by no means what hungry 
men would call satisfying. 

There is reason to believe, however, that their 
consideration of the sad lot of “ the poor ” at home 
did not render less profound or sweet that night’s 
repose in the great African wilderness. 



HOT WORK IN TIIE SOUDAN. 


323 


CHAPTEE XXIV. 


ADVENTURES AMONG THE SOUDANESE, AND STRANGE MEETING 
WITH THE MAHDI. 


Day after day, for many days, our captives were 
thus driven over the burning desert, suffering in¬ 
tensely from heat and thirst and hunger, as well as 
from fatigue, and treated with more or less cruelty 
according to the varying moods of their guards. 

At last one afternoon they arrived at a city of 
considerable size, through the streets of which they 
were driven with unusual harshness by the Arab 
soldiers, who seemed to take pleasure in thus 
publicly heaping contempt on Christian captives in 
the sight of the Mohammedan population. 

Their case seemed truly desperate to Miles, as he 
and his comrades passed through the narrow streets, 
for no pitying eye, but many a frown, was cast on 
them by the crowds who stopped to gaze and scoff. 

What city they had reached they had no means 
of finding out, being ignorant of Arabic. Indeed, 
even though they had been able to converse with 



324 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


their guards, it is probable that these would have 
refused to hold communication with them. 

Turning out of what appeared to be a sort of 
market-place, they were driven, rather than con¬ 
ducted, to a whitewashed building, into which they 
entered through a low strong door, studded with 
large iron-headed nails. As they entered a dark 
passage, the door was slammed and locked behind 
them. At first, owing to their sudden entrance out 
of intensely bright day, they seemed to be in pro¬ 
found darkness, but when they became accustomed 
to the dim light, they found that they were in the 
presence of several powerful men, who carried long 
Eastern-like pistols in their girdles, and curved 
naked swords in their hands. These stood like 
statues against the wall of the small room, silently 
awaiting the orders of one whose dress betokened 
him of superior rank, and who was engaged in 
writing with a reed in Persian characters. A tall, 
very black-sldnned negro stood beside this officer. 

After a few minutes the latter laid down the 
reed, rose up, and confronted the prisoners, at the 
same time addressing some remark to his attend¬ 
ant. 

“Who is you, an’ where you come fro?” asked 
the negro, addressing himself to Miles, whom 
he seemed intuitively to recognise as the chief of 
his party. 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


325 


“We are British soldiers!” said Miles, drawing 
himself up with an air of dignity that would have 
done credit to the Emperor of China. You see, at 
that moment he felt himself to be the spokesman 
for, and, with his comrades, the representative of, 
the entire British army, and was put upon his 
mettle accordingly. “We come from Suakim-” 

“ Ay, blackface! ” broke in Jack Molloy at that 
moment, “and you may tell him that if he has 
the pluck to go to Suakim, he ’ll see plenty more 
British soldiers—an’ British seamen too—who’ll 
give him an’ his friends a hot and hearty welcome 
wi’ bullet, bayonet, and cutlash whenever he feels 
inclined.” 

“ Are you officer ? ” asked the negro of Miles, and 
not paying the smallest attention to Molloy’s war¬ 
like invitation. 

“No, I am not.” 

Turning to the armed men, the officer gave them 
an order which caused them to advance and stand 
close to the Englishmen—two beside each prisoner 
—with drawn swords. An extra man took up his 
position behind Molloy, evidently having regard to 
his superior size ! Then two men, who looked like 
jailers, advanced to Stevenson, cut the cords that 
bound his arms, and proceeded to put iron fetters 
on his wrists. 

“ Comrades,” said Molloy, in a low voice, when 



326 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


lie perceived that his turn was coming, “ shall we 
make a hurst for it—kill them all, get out into street, 
cut and slash through the town, and make a grand 
run for it—or die like men ? ” 

“ Die like fools! ” growled Simkin, as he suffered 
his hands to be manacled. 

“No, no, Jack,” said Armstrong; “don’t be rash. 
Let’s bide our time. There’s no sayin’ what’ll 
turn up.” 

“Well, well,” sighed Molloy, resigning himself to 
his fate, “ there’s only one thing now that’s sartin 
sure to turn up, an’ that is the sod that ’ll cover our 
graves.” 

“You’re not sure even of that, man,” said Moses 
Pyne, who was beginning to give way to despair, 
“for mayhap they’ll only dig a hole in the sand 
an’ shove us in.” 

“ More likely to leave the dogs an’ vultures to 
clear us out o’ the way,” said Simkin, whose powers 
of hope were being tested almost beyond endur¬ 
ance. 

While the prisoners indulged in these gloomy 
anticipations, the operation of fixing their irons was 
finished, after which they were taken across an 
inner court which was open to the sky. At the 
other side of this they came to another heavy iron- 
studded door, which, when opened, disclosed a flight 
of steps descending into profound darkness. 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


327 


“ Go in! ” said the negro, who had accompanied 
them. 

Molloy, who was first, hesitated, and the tre¬ 
mendous flush on his face, and frown on his shaggy 
brows, seemed to indicate that even yet he medi¬ 
tated attempting his favourite “ burst ” ! But 
Stevenson, pushing past him, at once descended, 
saying, as he went, “Don’t be foolish, Jack; we must 
learn to submit.” 

There were only three steps, and at the bottom a 
room about fifteen feet square, to enlighten which 
there was a small hole high up in one of the walls. 
It did little more, however, than render darkness 
visible. 

“ God help us ! ” exclaimed Miles, with a sensa¬ 
tion of sinking at the heart which he had never felt 
before. 

And little wonder, for, as their eyes became accus¬ 
tomed to the dim light, it was seen that the walls 
were blank, with nothing on them to relieve the eye 
save the little hole or window just mentioned; that 
the floor was of hard earth, and that there was not 
a scrap of furniture in the room—not even a stool, 
or a bundle of straw on which to lie down. 

“ I will trust, and not be afraid,” said Stevenson, 
in a low voice. 

“ Who will you trust ? ” asked Simkin, who was 
not aware that his comrade had quoted Scripture. 



328 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ I will trust God/’ answered the marine. 

“ I wouldn’t give much for your trust, then,” 
returned Simkin bitterly, as well as contemptuously, 
for he had given way to despair. “ You Blue Lights 
and Christians think yourselves so much better 
than everybody else, because you make so much 
talk about prayin’ an’ singin’. an’ doin’ your duty, 
an’ servin’ God, an’ submitting. It’s all hypocrisy.” 

“Don’t you believe that Sergeant Hardy is a 
good soldier ? ” asked Stevenson. 

“Of course I do,” replied Simkin, in some surprise 
at the question. 

“An’ he doesn’t think much of himself, does he?” 
continued the marine. 

“ Certainly not. He’s one o’ the kindest an’ 
humblest men in the regiment, as I have good 
reason to know.” 

“Yet he frequently talks to us of attendin’ to our 
duty, an’ doin’ credit to the British Blag, an’ faith¬ 
fully serving the Queen. If this is praiseworthy in 
the sergeant, why should the talk of duty an’ service 
an’ honour to God be hypocrisy in the Christian ? 
Does it not seem strange that we Blue Lights—who 
have discovered ourselves to be much worse than 
we thought ourselves, an’ gladly accept Jesus as our 
Saviour from sin—should be charged with thinkin’ 
ourselves ‘ letter than other people ’! ” 

“ Come now,” cried Jack Molloy, seating himself 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


329 


on the floor, and leaning his back against the wall; 
“ it do seem to me, as you putt it, Stevenson, that 
the charge ought to be all the other way; for we, who 
make no purfession of religion at all, thinks ourselves 
so far righteous that we’ve got no need of a Saviour. 
Suppose, now, as we’ve got to as low a state o’ the 
dumps as men can well come to, we all sits down in 
a row an’ have a palaver about this matter—Parson 
Stevenson bein’ the chief spokesman.” 

They all readily agreed to this proposal. Indeed, 
in the circumstances, any proposal that offered the 
faintest hope of diverting their minds from present 
trouble would have been welcome to them at that 
moment. The marine was nothing loath to fall in 
with the fancy of his irrepressible comrade, but we 
do not propose to follow them in the talk that 
ensued. We will rather turn at once to those 
events which affected more immediately the for¬ 
tunes of the captives. 

On the morning after their arrival in the city 
there was assembled in the principal square a 
considerable concourse of Soudan warriors. They 
stood chatting together in various groups in front 
of a public building, as if awaiting some chief or 
great man, whose richly caparisoned steed stood in 
front of the main entrance, with its outrunner 
standing before it. 

This runner was a splendid specimen of physical 



330 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


manhood. He was as black as coal, as graceful as 
Apollo, and apparently as powerful as Hercules,—if 
one might judge from the great muscles which stood 
out prominently on all his limbs. He wore but 
little clothing—merely a pair of short Arab drawers 
of white cotton, a red fez on his head, and a small 
tippet on his shoulders. Unlike negroes in general, 
his features were cast in a mould which one is more 
accustomed to see in the Caucasian race of man¬ 
kind—the nose being straight, the lips comparatively 
thin, and the face oval, while his bearing was that 
of a man accustomed to command. 

The appearance of a few soldiers traversing the 
square drew the eyes of all in their direction, and 
caused a brief pause in the hum of conversation. 
Our friends, the captives, were in the midst of these 
soldiers, and beside them marched the negro 
interpreter whom they had first met with in the 
prison. 

At the door of the public building the soldiers 
drew up and allowed the captives to pass in, guarded 
by two officers and the interpreter. Inside they 
found a number of military men and dignitaries 
grouped around, conversing with a stern man of 
strongly marked features. This man — towards 
whom all of them showed great deference—was 
engaged when the captives entered; they were 
therefore obliged to stand aside for a few minutes. - 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


331 


“Who is he?” asked Molloy of the negro inter¬ 
preter. 

“ Our great leader,” said the negro, “ the Mahdi.” 
“ What! the scoundrel that’s bin the cause o’ all 
this kick-up ?” asked Jack Molloy, in surprise. 

The interpreter did not quite understand the 
seaman’s peculiar language, but he seemed to have 
some idea of the drift of it, for he turned up his 
up-turned nose in scorn and made no reply. 

In a few minutes an officer led the captives before 
the Mahdi, who regarded them with a dark frown, 
directing his attention particularly to Jack Molloy, 
as being the most conspicuous member of the party, 
perhaps, also, because Molloy looked at him with an 
air and expression of stern defiance. 

Selecting him as a spokesman for the others, the 
Mahdi, using the negro as an interpreter, put him 
through the following examination:— 

“ Where do you come from ? ” he asked, sternly. 

“ From Suakim,” answered Molloy, quite as sternly. 
K What brought you here ? ” 

“ Your dirty-faced baboons! ” 

It is probable that the negro used some discretion 
in translating this reply, for the chief did not seem 
at all offended, but with the same manner and tone 
continued— 

“ Do you know the number of men in Suakim ? ” 
« Yes.” 





332 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Tell me—how many ?” 

To this Molloy answered slowly, “ Quite enough— 
if you had only the pluck to come out into the open 
an’ fight like men—to give you such a lickin’ that 
there wouldn’t be a baboon o’ you left in the whole 
Soudan! ” 

Again it is probable that the interpreter did not 
give this speech verbatim, for while he was deliver¬ 
ing it the Mahdi was scanning the features of the 
group of prisoners with a calm but keen eye. 

Making a sign to one of his attendants to lead 
Molloy to one side, he said a few words to another, 
who thereupon placed Miles in front of his master. 

“Are you an officer?” was the first question put. 

“ No,” answered our hero, with quiet dignity, but 
without the slightest tinge of defiance either in tone 
or look. 

“ Will you tell me how many men you have in 
Sualdm?” 

“No.” 

“ Dare you refuse ? ” 

“Yes; it is against the principles of a British 
soldier to give information to an enemy.” 

“That’s right, John Miles,” said Molloy, in an 
encouraging tone; “ give it ’im hot! They can only 
kill us once, an’-” 

“ Silence! ” hissed the Mahdi between his teeth. 

“ Silence! ” echoed the interpreter. 





HOT WOKE IN THE SOUDAN. 


333 


“ All right, you nigger! Tell the baboon to go on. 
I won’t run foul of him again ; he ain’t worth it.” 

This was said with free-and-easy contempt. 

“ Do you not know,” resumed the Mahdi, turning 
again to Miles with a fierce expression, “that I 
have power to take your life ? ” 

“You have no power at all beyond what God 
gives to you,” said Miles quietly. 

Even the angry Mahdi was impressed with the 
obvious truth of this statement, but his anger was 
not much allayed by it. 

“Know you not,” he continued, “that I have the 
power to torture you to death ? ” 

Our hero did not at once reply. He felt that a 
grand crisis in his life had arrived, that he stood 
there before an assemblage of “unbelievers,” and 
that, to some extent, the credit of his countrymen 
for courage, fidelity, and Christianity was placed in 
his hands. 

“ Mahdi,” he said, impressively, as he drew himself 
up, “ you have indeed the power to torture and kill 
me, but you have not the power to open my lips, or 
cause me to bring dishonour on my country! ” 

“Brayvo, Johnny! Pitch into him!” cried the 
delighted Molloy. 

“Pool!” exclaimed the Mahdi, whose ire was 
rekindled as much by the seaman’s uncomprehended 
comment as by our hero’s fearless look and tone, 




334 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ you cannot bring dishonour on a country which is 
already dishonoured. What dishonour can exceed 
that of being leagued with the oppressor against the 
oppressed ? Go! You shall be taught to sympathise 
with the oppressed by suffering oppression! ” 

He waved his hand, and, quickly leaving the 
court, walked towards his horse, where the fine-look¬ 
ing negro runner stood and held his stirrup, while 
he prepared to mount. Instead of mounting, 
however, he stood for a few seconds looking 
thoughtfully at the ground. Then he spoke a few 
words to the runner, who bowed his head slightly 
as his master mounted and rode away. 

Grasping a small lance and flag, which seemed to 
be the emblems of his office, he ran off at full speed 
in front of the horse to clear the way for his master. 

At the entrance to the building an official of some 
sort took hold of Miles’s arm and led him away. He 
glanced back and observed that two armed men 
followed. At the same time he saw Molloy’s head 
towering above the surrounding crowd, as he and his 
comrades were led away in another direction. That 
was the last he saw of some, at least, of his friends 
for a considerable time. 

Poor Miles was too much distressed at this sudden 
and unexpected separation to take much note of the 
things around him. He was brought back to a 
somewhat anxious consideration of his own affairs 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


335 


by being halted at the gate of a building which was 
more imposing, both in size and appearance, than 
the houses around it. Entering at the bidding of 
his conductors, he found himself in an open court, 
and heard the heavy door closed and bolted behind 
him. 

Thereafter he was conducted to a small chamber, 
which, although extremely simple, and almost 
devoid of furniture, was both cleaner and lighter 
than that in which he and his comrades had been at 
first immured. He observed, however, with a feel¬ 
ing of despondency, that it was lighted only by small 
square holes in the roof, and that the door was very 
substantial! 

Here his conductor left him without saying a 
word and bolted the door. As he listened to the 
retreating steps of his jailer echoing on the marble 
pavement of the court, a feeling of profound dejec¬ 
tion fell upon our hero’s spirit, and he experienced 
an almost irresistible tendency to give way to 
unmanly tears. Shame, however, came to his aid 
and enabled him to restrain them. 

In one corner of the little room there was a piece 
of thick matting. Sitting down on it with his back 
against the wall, the poor youth laid his face in his 
hands and began to think and to pray. But the 
prayer was not audible; and who can describe the 
wide range of thought—the grief, the anxiety for 




336 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


comrades as well as for himself, the remorse, the 
intense longing to recall the past, the wish that he 
might awake and find that it was only a wild dream, 
and, above all, the bitter—almost vengeful—self- 
condemnation ! 

He was aroused from this condition by the 
entrance of a slave bearing a round wooden tray, on 
which were a bowl of food and a jug of water. 

Placing these before him, the slave retired without 
speaking, though he bestowed a glance of curiosity 
on the “ white infidel dog ” before closing the door. 

Appetite had ever been a staunch friend to Miles 
Milton. It did not fail him now. Soldier-life has 
usually the effect of making its devotees acutely 
careful to take advantage of all opportunities ! He 
set to work on the bowlful of food with a will, and 
was not solicitous to ascertain what it consisted of un¬ 
till it was safely washed down with a draught from 
the jug. Being then too late to enter on an inquiry 
as to its nature, he contented himself with a pleasing 
recollection that the main body of the compost was 
rice, one of the constituents oil, and that the whole 
was by no means bad. He also wished that there 
had been more of it, and then resumed his previous 
—and only possible—amusement of meditation. 

Thinking, like fighting, is better done on a full 
stomach ! He had gradually thought himself into 
a more hopeful state of mind, when he was again 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


337 


interrupted by the entrance of visitors—two armed 
men, and the magnificent negro runner whom he 
had observed holding the Mahdi’s horse. One of 
the armed men carried a small bundle, which he 
deposited on the ground, and then stood beside his 
companion. Both stood like sentinels with drawn 
swords, ready, apparently, to obey the commands of 
the runner. 

Advancing to the captive, the latter, producing a 
key, unlocked and removed his manacles. These 
he handed to one of the men, and, turning again to 
Miles, said, to his great surprise, in English— 

“ Undress, and put on de t’ings in bundle.” 

We may here observe that up to this time Miles 
and his comrades in adversity had worn, day and 
night, the garments in which they had been cap¬ 
tured. Our hero was not sorry, therefore, at the 
prospect of a change. Untying the bundle to see 
what substitute was given for his uniform, he found 
that it contained only a pair of loose cotton drawers 
and a red fez. 

“ Is this all ? ” he asked, in surprise. 

“ All,” answered the negro. 

“ And what if I refuse to undress ? ” asked Miles. 

“ Your clo’es will be tore off your back and you 
be bastinado! ” 

This was said so calmly, and the three grave, 
powerful men seemed so thoroughly capable of 
Y 





338 


BLUE LIGHTS, OK 


performing the deed, that our hero wisely submitted 
to the inevitable and took off his uniform, which 
one of the guards gathered up piece by piece as it 
was removed. Then he pulled on the drawers, 
which covered him from the waist to a little below 
the knees. When he had put on the red fez he 
found himself clothed in exactly the same costume 
as the runner, with the exception of a small green 
tippet which barely covered the top of his shoulders, 
and seemed to be worn rather as an ornament than 
a piece of clothing, though perhaps it formed a 
slight protection from the sun. 

In this cool costume they left him, carrying away 
his uniform, as if more thoroughly to impress on him 
what uncommonly cool things they were capable of 
doing in the hot regions of the Soudan ! 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


339 


CHAPTEE XXY. 

MILES IS PROMOTED—MOLLOY OVERTHROWS THE MAHDI, 

AND IS ELEVATED FOR SO DOING. 

Next day Miles Milton became painfully aware 
of the fact that his life in captivity was not to be 
one of ease or idleness. 

Soon after daybreak the door of his prison creaked 
on its ponderous hinges, and he started up from the 
mat on which he had slept without covering of any 
kind. His visitor was the Mahdi’s runner, who, 
after closing the door, came and sat down beside 
him, cross legged a la Turk and tailor. 

For a brief space the handsome black stared 
steadily at Miles, who returned the compliment as 
steadily, not being sure whether curiosity or inso¬ 
lence lay at the foundation of the stare. 

“Englishmin,” said the runner at last, “you is 
unfortnit.” 

“ I am indeed,” returned Miles; “ at the same time 
I am fortunate in so unexpectedly finding one who 
recognises the fact, and who can tell me so in my 





340 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


own tongue. May I venture to hope that you are 
friendly towards me ? ” 

“ Yes; I am your friend, but my friendness can 
do for you not’ing. Like youself, I am captive— 
slave. But in my own land I was a chief, and 
friend of the great and good Gordon, so I is friend 
to all Englishmin. Once I was ’terpreter to Gordon, 
but the Mahdi came. I fell into his hands, and now 
I do run befront his horse, an’ hold de stirrup! 
I comes to you from the Mahdi wid bad news.” 

“Indeed! But I need not wonder. You could 
scarcely come from him with good news. What 
have you to tell ? ” 

“ The Mahdi has made you his runner,” answered 
the negro. 

“ That is strange news rather than bad, is it 
not?” 

“ No; it is bad. He do dis ’cause he hate you. 
Somehow you has anger him. He say he will tame 
you. He try to tame me,” said the negro, with 
sudden and tremendous ferocity, “ an’ him t’ink he 
do it! But I only waits my chance to kill him. 

“ Now he send me again to dirty work, an’ put 
you in my place to humble you—to insult you 
before every one, who will say, ‘Look! de bold 
Christin dog lick de dust now, an’ hold de Mahdi’s 
stirrup.’ ” 

“This is indeed bad news. But how is it that 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


341 


you, who seem to be free, do not use your opportu¬ 
nity to escape? I saw you holding the Mahdi’s 
horse. It seems to be a splendid one. Why did 
you not jump on its back and fly ? ” 

The runner frowned, and then, changing his 
mood, smiled sadly. 

“You is young,” he said, “and knows not’ing. 
At night I am locked up like yourself. In de day¬ 
time de city is full of enemies, who all knows me. 
Do you t’ink dey will salute, and say, ‘ Go in peace/ 
to de runner of de Mahdi when he is running away 
with his best horse ? ” 

“ Perhaps not,” said Miles, “ but I would try if I 
were you.” 

“You will be me very soon,” returned the 
runner, “and you can try. I did try—twice. I 
was caught both times and beat near to death. 
But I did not die! I learn wisdom; and now I 
submit and wait my chance to kill him. If you is 
wise you begin at once to submit and wait too.” 

“ There is truth in what you say,” rejoined Miles, 
after a few minutes’ thought. “ I will take your 
advice and submit and wait, but only till the oppor¬ 
tunity to escape offers. I would not murder the man 
even if I had the chance.” 

“ Your words remind me of de good Gordon. He 
was not vengeful. He loved God,” said the runner, 
in a low and very different tone. “ But,” he added, 






342 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Gordon was a white man. He did not—could not 
—understand de feelings of de black chief.” 

As the last remark opened up ground which 
Miles was not prepared to traverse, he made no 
rejoinder but asked the runner what the Mahdi 
required of him in his new capacity. 

“He require you to learn de city, so as you 
know how to run when you is told—an’ I is to 
teach you, so you come wid me,” said the runner, 
rising. 

“ But am I to go in this costume, or rather in 
this half-naked state ? ” asked Miles, rising and 
spreading out his hands as he looked down at his 
unclothed chest and lower limbs. 

“You not cause for be ashamed,” replied the 
runner, with a nod. 

This was true, for the hard travelling which 
Miles had recently endured, and the heavy burdens 
which he had borne, had developed his muscles to 
such an extent that his frame was almost equal to 
that of the negro, and a fit subject for the sculp¬ 
tor’s chisel. 

“Your white skin will p’r’aps blister at first,” 
continued the runner, “but your master will be 
glad for dat. Here is a t’ing, however, will save 
you shoulders. Now, you makes fuss-rate runner” 

He took the little green tippet off his own shoul¬ 
ders and fastened it on those of his successor. 





t 

HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 343 

“ Come now/’ he added, “ let us see how you can 
run.” 

They passed out into the street together, and 
then poor Miles felt the full sense of his degrada¬ 
tion, when he saw some of the passers-by stop to gaze 
with looks of hatred or contempt or amusement at 
the “ Christian captive.” 

But he had not much leisure to think or feel, 
for the negro ran him down one street and up 
another at a pace which would soon have exhausted 
him if, besides being a naturally good runner, 
he had not recently been forced to undergo such 
severe training. During the run his guide pointed 
out and named most of the chief places, build¬ 
ings, and mosques. 

“ You will do,” said the negro, pausing at length 
and turning towards his companion with a look of 
approval. “ You a’most so good as myself! ” 

With this compliment he proceeded to instruct the 
new runner in his duties, and at night Miles found 
himself again in his prison, ready to do full justice to 
his bowl of rice-compost, and to enjoy his blanket¬ 
less mat bed—if a man can be said to enjoy any¬ 
thing about which he is profoundly unconscious 
during the time of its enjoyment! 

Next morning he awoke with a sensation that led 
him for a moment to fancy he must have gone supper¬ 
less to bed. While he was waiting impatiently for 


344 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


breakfast he revolved several ideas in his mind, one 
of which was that, come what might, he would not 
suffer any indignity, however gross, to get the better 
of him. He would take a leaf out of his friend 
Stevenson’s book, and bear patiently whatever was 
sent to him, in the hope that by so doing' he might 
gain the good-will of his captors, and thus, perhaps, 
be in a better position to take advantage of any 
opportunity to escape that might occur. 

He was very confident of his power of self- 
restraint, and trusted a good deal to that determina¬ 
tion of w T ill which we have before referred to as being 
one of his characteristics. That same day his powers 
were severely tested. 

All the morning he was left in his prison to fret 
in idleness, but towards the afternoon he was called 
by his friend the ex-runner to go out to his work. 

“ Do what you is told an’ hold you tongue, an’ 
keep your eyes on de ground. Dems my advice,” 
said the negro, as he resigned the bridle of the 
Mahdi’s steed to his successor, and placed the lance 
of office in his hand. 

Just as he did so the Mahdi came out of a door¬ 
way and advanced towards them, while the negro 
retired and mingled with the crowd which had 
assembled to see the chief mount his horse. 

Miles tried faithfully to attend to his friend’s 
injunctions, but could not resist one glance at his new 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


345 


master, which showed him that a cynical smile rested 
on his swarthy countenance, a smile which he also 
observed was copied by those of the crowd who did not 
prefer to regard him with scowling looks—for the 
people of the Soudan were, naturally enough, filled 
with indignation against all Europeans, and especially 
against the British, at that time. 

The glance did not improve Miles’s state of mind, 
nevertheless he forced himself to look at the ground 
with an utterly expressionless face, as he held the 
Mahdi’s stirrup. He received a slight push from 
his master’s foot instead of thanks when he had 
mounted, but Miles resolutely kept his eyes on the 
ground and restrained his rising wrath, ignorant of 
the fact that the Mahdi wished to point out the 
direction in which he was to run. 

A smart blow from the riding-switch on his naked 
back aroused him to his duty, and caused a slight 
laugh among the onlookers. 

Never before, perhaps, was the Mahdi so near his 
end as at that moment, for, as our hero felt the 
sting, and heard the low laugh, all the blood in his 
body seemed to leap into his brow, and the lance of 
office quivered as his hand tightened on it. The 
fact that two guards with drawn swords stood at his 
side, and that their weapons would have been in his 
heart before he could have accomplished the deed, 
would probably have failed to restrain him had not 




346 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


liis pride of purpose, as we may style it, come to his 
aid. He looked up, with a frown indeed, but with¬ 
out utteriug a word. The Malidi pointed along one 
of the streets, and Miles instantly bounded away— 
heartily glad to be able to let off his superfluous 
feeling in violent action. 

For several hours his master kept him running— 
evidently on purpose to try his powers, as a jockey 
might test the qualities of a new horse, and, strong 
though he was, the poor youth began at last to feel 
greatly distressed, and to pant a good deal. Still 
his pride and a determination not to be beaten 
sustained him. 

At one point of his course he was passing a 
band of slaves who were labouring to lift a large 
beam of wood, when the sound of a familiar voice 
caused him to look up, and then he saw his friend 
Jack Molloy, in costume like his own, minus the 
fez and tippet, with one of his great shoulders under 
the beam, and the sweat pouring down his face. 

“Hallo, Miles !” exclaimed the seaman. 

But our hero did not dare to pause, and could 
not speak. His glancing aside, however, had the 
effect of causing him to stumble, and, being too 
much exhausted at the time to recover himself, he 
fell heavily to the ground. As he slowly rose up, 
half-stunned, the Mahdi could scarcely avoid riding 
him down. As it was, he stooped, and, a second 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


347 


time laid his riding-switch smartly on the poor 
youth’s naked shoulders. 

Jack Molloy, who saw the cruel act, lost all con¬ 
trol of himself, uttered one of his leonine roars, 
sprang into the middle of the road, and seized the 
reins of the Mahdi’s horse. The startled animal 
reared and attempted to swerve. Molloy assisted 
the swerve by a violent side-pull at the reins. At 
the same time he caught one of the upraised fore¬ 
legs, and, with an almost superhuman exertion of 
strength hurled both horse and rider to the ground! 

A very howl of consternation and amazement 
burst from the populace as they beheld their Mahdi 
lying flat and motionless on his back as if dead ! 

Of course Jack Molloy was instantly seized by 
an overpowering number of soldiers, bound hand 
and foot, and carried back to his dungeon, while the 
Mahdi was tenderly raised and conveyed to the 
house which he inhabited at that time. 

Miles had also been seized and dragged some¬ 
what violently back to his prison. As for the other 
members of the captive band, none of them were 
there at the time. They were all separated at the 
time our hero was taken from them, and each re¬ 
mained for a considerable time in ignorance of the 
fate of his fellows. We may say at once here that 
they were all put to severe and menial labour. 
Each also had his uniform exchanged for a pair of 


348 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Arabian drawers, and a felt cap or a fez,* so that 
they were little better than naked. This would 
have mattered little—the weather being very warm 
—if their skins had been accustomed to the power¬ 
ful rays of a tropical sun. But the effect on them 
was so severe that their taskmasters, in an unwonted 
gush of pity, at last gave them each a loose garment 
of sacking, which served as a partial protection. 

After the incident which has just been related, 
Miles was permitted to remain during the rest of 
that day and night in his room. Not so Jack 
Molloy. The anger of the populace was so power¬ 
fully aroused against the impetuous sailor that they 
clamoured for his instant execution, and at last, 
unable or unwilling to resist the pressure of public 
opinion, the officers in charge of him gave in. They 
put a rope round his neck, and led him to a spot 
where criminals were wont to be executed. 

As he went along and saw only scowling faces 
whenever he looked round in the hope of meeting 
some pitying eye, the poor man began to feel con¬ 
vinced that his last hour had in very truth arrived. 

“Well, well, who’d ha’ thowt it would ever come 
to this ? ” he sighed, shaking his head mournfully as 
he came in sight of the place of execution. “ But, 
after all, ye richly desarve it, John Molloy, for 
you Ve bin a bad lot the greater part o’ your life! ” 

Again he looked on either side of him, for hope 


HOT WOKK IN THE SOUDAN. 


349 


was strongly enshrined in his broad bosom, but not 
a friendly or even pitiful face could he see among 
all the hundreds that surrounded him. 

Arrived at the place, he glanced up at the beam 
over his head, and for one moment thought of trying, 
like Samson, to burst the bonds that held him ; but 
it was only for a moment. The impossibility of 
freeing himself was too obvious. He meekly bowed 
his head. Another instant and the rope tightened 
round his neck, and he felt himself swinging in the 
air. 

Before his senses had quite left him, however, he 
felt his feet again touch the ground. The choking 
sensation passed away, and he found himself sup¬ 
ported by two men. A burst of mocking laughter 
then proved to the wretched man that his tor¬ 
mentors had practised on him the refined cruelty of 
half-hanging him. If he had had any doubt on 
this subject, the remark of the interpreter, as he 
afterwards left him in his cell to recover as best 
he might, would have dispelled it— 

“We will ’ang you dead de nex’ time! ” 




350 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTEE XXVI. 

CRUEL TREATMENT—DESPAIR FOLLOWED BY HOPE AND A JOYFUL 
DISCOVERY. 

After the rough treatment he had received, the 
Mahdi, as we may well believe, did not feel more 
amiably disposed towards his prisoners. 

Of course he had no reason for blaming Miles for 
what had occurred, nevertheless he vented his wrath 
against white men in general on him, by keeping 
him constantly on the move, and enforcing prolonged 
and unusual speed while running, besides subjecting 
him publicly to many insults. 

It was a strange school in which to learn self- 
restraint and humility. But our hero profited by 
the schooling. Necessity is a stern teacher, and slie 
was the head-mistress of that school. Among other 
things she taught Miles to reason extensively—not 
very profoundly, perhaps, nor always correctly, but 
at all events in a way that he never reasoned before. 
The best way to convey to the reader the state 
of his mind will be to let him speak for himself. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


351 


As he had a habit of thinking aloud—for sociability, 
as it were—in the dark cell to which he had been 
relegated, we have only to bend down our ear and 
listen. 

One night, about a week after the overthrow of 
his tyrant master, Miles was seated on the hard 
floor of his cell, leaning against the wall, with his 
knees drawn up and his face in his hands—his usual 
attitude when engaged in meditation after a hard 
day’s work. 

“ I wouldn’t mind so much,” he murmured, “ if I 
only saw the faintest prospect of its coming to an 
end, but to go on thus from day to day, perhaps 
year to year, is terrible. No, that cannot be; if we 
cannot escape it won’t be long till the end comes. 
(A pause.) The end!—the end of a rope with a 
noose on it is likely to be my end, unless I burst up 
and run a-muck. No, no, Miles Milton, don’t you 
think of that! What good would it do to kill half- 
a-dozen Arabs to accompany you into the next 
world 1 The poor wretches are only defending their 
country after all. (Another pause.) Besides, you 
deserve what you’ve got for so meanly forsaking your 
poor mother; think o’ that, Miles, when you feel 
tempted to stick your lance into the Mahdi’s gizzard, 
as Molloy would have said. Ah! poor Molloy 
I fear that I shall never see you again in this life. 
After giving the Mahdi .and his steed such a tre- 



352 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


mendous heave they would be sure to kill you; 
perhaps they tortured you to-” 

He stopped at this point with an involuntary 
shudder. 

“I hope not,” he resumed, after another pause. 
“ I hope we may yet meet and devise some means of 
escape. God grant it! True, the desert is vast and 
scorching and almost waterless—I may as well say 
foodless too! And it swarms with foes, but what 
then ? Have not most of the great deeds of earth 
been accomplished in the face of what seemed in¬ 
surmountable difficulties ? Besides-” 

He paused again here, and for a longer time, 
because there came suddenly into his mind words 
that had been spoken to him long ago by his 
mother : “ With God all things are possible.” 

“ Yes, Miles,” he continued, “ you must make up 
your mind to restrain your anger and indignation, 
because it is useless to give vent to them. That’s 
but a low motive after all. Is it worthy of an 
intelligent man ? I get a slap in the face, and bear 
it patiently, because I can’t help myself. I get the 
same slap in the face in circumstances where I can 
help myself, and I resent it fiercely. Humble when 
I must be so; fierce when I’ve got the power. Is 
not this unmanly—childish—humbug? There is 
no principle here. Principle ! I do believe I never 
had any principle in me worthy of the name. I 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


353 


have been drifting, up to this time, before the winds 
of caprice and selfish inclination. (A long pause 
here.) Well, it just comes to this, that whatever 
happens I must submit with a good grace—at least, 
as good grace as I can—and hope that an oppor¬ 
tunity to escape may occur before long. I have 
made up my mind to do it—and when I once make 
up my mind, I-” 

He paused once more at this point, and the pause 
was so long that he turned it into a full stop by 
laying his head on the block of wood which formed 
his pillow and going to sleep. 

It will be seen from the above candid remarks 
that our hero was not quite as confident of his 
power of will as he used to be,—also, that he was 
learning a few useful facts in the school of adversity. 

One evening, after a harder day than usual, Miles 
was conducted to the prison in which he and his com¬ 
panions had been confined on the day of their arrival. 

Looking round the cell, he observed, on becoming 
accustomed to the dim light, that only one other 
prisoner was there. He was lying on the bare 
ground in a corner, coiled up like a dog, and with 
his face to the wall. Relieved to find that he was 
not to be altogether alone, Miles sat down with his 
back against the opposite wall, and awaited the 
waking of his companion with some interest, for 
although his face was not visible, and his body was 
z 






354 


BLUE LIGHTS, OK 


clothed in a sort of sacking, his neck and lower 
limbs showed that he was a white man. But the 
sleeper did not seem inclined to waken just then. 
On the contrary, he began, ere long, to snore heavily. 

Miles gradually fell into a train of thought that 
seemed to bring hack reminiscences of a vague, in¬ 
definable sort. Then he suddenly became aware 
that the snore of the snorer was not unfamiliar. He 
was on the point of rising to investigate this when 
the sleeper awoke with a start, sat bolt upright with 
a look of owlish gravity, and presented the features 
of Jack Molloy. 

“Miles, my lad!” cried Jack, springing up to 
greet his friend warmly, “ I thought you was dead.” 

“And, Jack, my dear friend,” returned Miles, “I 
thought—at least I feared—that you must have 
been tortured to death.” 

“ An’ you wasn’t far wrong, my boy. Stand close 
to me, and look me straight in the eyes. D’ee think 
I’m any taller ? ” 

“Hot much—at least, not to my perception. 
Why?” 

“ I wonder at that, now,” said Molloy, “ for I’ve 
bin hanged three times, an’ should have bin pulled 
out a bit by this time, considering my weight.” 

His friend smiled incredulously. 

“ You may laugh, lad, but it’s no laughin’ matter,” 
said Molloy, feeling his neck tenderly. “ The last 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


355 


time, I really thought it was all up wi’ me, for the 
knot somehow got agin my windpipe an’ I was all 
hut choked. If they had kep’ me up half a minute 
longer it would have bin all over: I a’most wished 
they had, for though I never was much troubled 
wi’ the narves, I’m beginnin’ now to have a little 
fellow-feelin’ for the suffering o’ the narvish.” 

“ Do you really mean, my dear fellow, that the 
monsters have been torturing you in this way?” 
asked Miles, with looks of sympathy. 

“Ay, John Miles, that’s just what I does mean,” 
returned the seaman, with an anxious and startled 
look at tlfe door, on the other side of which a slight 
noise was heard at the moment. “ They’ve half- 
hanged me three times already. The last time 
was only yesterday, an’ at any moment they may 
come to give me another turn. It’s the uncertainty 
o’ the thing that tries my narves. I used to boast 
that I hadn’t got none once, but the Arabs know 
how to take the boastin’ out of a fellow. If they’d 
only take me out to be hanged right off an’ done 
with it, I wouldn’t mind it so much, but it’s the 
constant tenter-hooks of uncertainty that floors me. 
Hows’ever, I ain’t quite floored yet. But let’s hear 
about yourself, Miles. Come, sit down. I gets tired 
sooner than I used to do since they took to hangin’ 
me. How have they bin sarvin’ you out since I 
last saw ye ? ” 



356 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Not near so badly as they have been serving 
you, old boy,” said Miles, as he sat down and began 
to detail his own experiences. 

“But tell me,” he added, “have you heard 
anything of our unfortunate comrades since we 
parted ? ” 

“ Nothing—at least nothing that I can trust to. 
I did hear that poor Moses Pyne is dead ; that 
they had treated him the same as me, and that his 
narves couldn’t stand it; that he broke down under 
the strain an’ died. But I don’t believe it. Not 
that these Arabs wouldn’t kill him that way, but 
the interpreter who told me has got falsehood so 
plainly writ in his ugly face that I would fain hope 
our kind-hearted friend is yet alive.” 

“ God grant it may be so ! ” said Miles fervently. 
“And I scarcely think that even the cruellest of 
men would persevere in torturing such a gentle fel¬ 
low as Moses.” 

“ Mayhap you ’re right,” returned Molloy; “ any¬ 
how, we’ll take what comfort we can out o’ the 
hope. Talkin’ o’ comfort, what d’ ee think has bin 
comfortin’me in a most wonderful way? You’ll 
never guess.” 

“ What is it, then ? ” 

“One o’ them little books as Miss Robinson 
writes, and gives to soldiers and sailors—‘The 
Victory’ it’s called, havin’ a good deal in it about 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


357 


Nelson’s flagship and Nelson himself; but there’s 
a deal more than that in it—words that has gone 
straight to my heart, and made me see God’s love 
in Christ as I never saw it before. Our comrade 
Stevenson gave it to me before we was nabbed by 
the Arabs, an’ I ’ve kep’ it in the linin’ o’ my straw 
hat ever since. You see it’s a thin little thing— 
though there’s oceans o’ truth in it—an’ it’s easy 
stowed away. 

“ I forgot all about it till I was left alone in this 
place, and then I got it out, an’ God in his marcy 
made it like a light in the dark to me. 

“Stevenson came by it in a strange way. He 
told me he was goin’ over a battle-field after a 
scrimmage near Suakim, lookin’ out for the wounded, 
when he noticed somethin’ clasped in a dead man’s 
hand. The hand gripped it tight, as if unwillin’ to 
part with it, an’ when Stevenson got it he found 
that it was this little book, * The Victory.’ Here it 
is. I wouldn’t change it for a golden sov. to every 
page.” 

As he spoke, footsteps were heard approaching 
the door. With a startled air Molloy thrust the 
book into its place and sprang up. 

“ See there, now ! ” he said remonstratively, 
“ who’d ever ha’ thowt that I’d come to jerk about 
like that ? ” 

Before the door opened, however, the momentary 



358 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


weakness liad passed away, and our seaman stood 
upright, with stern brow and compressed lips, 
presenting to those who entered as firm and self- 
possessed a man of courage as one could wish to see. 

“ I knowed it! ” he said in a quiet voice to his 
friend, as two strong armed men advanced and 
seized him, while two with drawn swords stood 
behind him. At the same time, two others stood 
guard over Miles. “ They Te goin’ to give me an¬ 
other turn. God grant that it may be the last! ” 

“ Yes—de last. You be surely dead dis time,” 
said the interpreter, with a malignant smile. 

“ If you hadn’t said it, I would have had some 
hope that the end was come! ” said Molloy, as they 
put a rope round his neck and led him away. 

“Good-bye, Miles,” he added, looking over his 
shoulder; “if I never come back, an’ you ever 
gets home again, give my kind regards to Miss 
Robinson—God bless her ! ” 

Next moment the door closed, and Miles was left 
alone. 

It is impossible to describe the state of mind in 
which our hero paced his cell during the next hour. 
The intense pity, mingled with anxiety and fierce 
indignation, that burned in his bosom were almost 
unbearable. “ Oh ! ” he thought, “ if I were only 
once more free, for one moment, with a weapon in 
my hand, I’d-” 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


359 


He wisely checked himself in the train of useless 
thought at this point. Then he sat down on the 
floor, covered his face with his hands, and tried to 
pray, but could not. Starting up, he again paced 
wildly about the cell like a caged tiger. After 
what seemed to him an age he heard footsteps in 
the outer court. The door opened, and the sailor 
was thrust in. Staggering forward a step or two, he 
was on the point of falling when Miles caught him 
in his arms, and let him sink gently on the ground, 
and, sitting down beside him, laid his head upon his 
knee. From the inflamed red mark which encircled 
the seaman’s powerful neck, it was obvious enough 
that the cruel monsters had again put him to the 
tremendous mental agony of supposing that his last 
hour had come. 

“Help me up, lad, and set my back agin the 
wall,” he said, in a low voice. 

As Miles complied, one or two tears that would 
not be repressed fell from his eyes on the sailor’s 
cheek. 

“ You ’re a good fellow,” said Molloy, looking up. 
“ I thank the Lord for sendin’ you to comfort me, 
and I do need comfort a bit just now, d’ ee know. 
There—I’m better a’ready, an’ I’ll be upside wi’ 
them next time, for I feels, somehow, that I couldn’t 
stand another turn. Poor Moses ! I do hope that 
the interpreter is the liar he looks, and that they 


3G0 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


haven’t treated the poor fellow to this sort o’ 
thing.” 

Even while he spoke, the door of the cell again 
opened and armed men entered. 

“ Ay, here you are,” cried the sailor, rising quickly 
and attempting to draw himself up and show a bold 
front. “Come away an’ welcome. I’m ready 
for ’ee.” 

But the men had not come for Molloy. They 
wanted Miles, over whom there came a sudden and 
dreadful feeling of horror, as he thought they were 
perhaps going to subject him to the same ordeal as 
his friend. 

“ Keep up heart, lad, and trust in the Lord,” said 
the sailor, in an encouraging tone as they led our 
hero away. 

The words were fitly spoken, and went far to re¬ 
store to the poor youth the courage that for a 
moment had forsaken him. As he emerged into the 
bright light, which dazzled him after the darkness 
of his prison-house, he thought of the Sun of 
Eighteousness, and of the dear mother who had 
sought so earnestly to lead him to God in his boy¬ 
hood. 

One thing that greatly encouraged him was the 
fact that no rope had been put round his neck, as 
had been done to Molloy, and he also observed that 
his guards did not treat him roughly. Moreover, 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


361 


they led him in quite a different direction from the 
open place where he well knew that criminals were 
executed. He glanced at the interpreter who 
marched beside him, and thought for a moment of 
asking him what might be his impending fate, but 
the man’s look was so forbidding that he forbore to 
speak. 

Presently they stopped before a door, which was 
opened by a negro slave, and the guards remained 
outside while Miles and the interpreter entered. 
The court into which they were ushered was open to 
the sky, and contained a fountain in the centre, with 
boxes of flowers and shrubs around it. At the 
inner end of it stood a tall powerful Arab, leaning on 
a curved sword. 

Miles saw at a glance that he was the same man 
whose life he had saved, and who had come so oppor¬ 
tunely to the rescue of his friend Molloy. But the 
Arab gave him no sign of recognition. On the con¬ 
trary, the glance which he bestowed on him was one 
of calm, stern indifference. 

“Ask him,” he said at once to the interpreter, 
“ where are the Christian dogs who were captured 
with him ? ” 

“ Tell him,” replied Miles, when this was trans¬ 
lated, “ that I know nothing about the fate of any of 
them except one.” 

“ Which one is that ? ” 



362 


BLUE LIGHTS, OH 


“ The sailor,” answered Miles. 

“ Where is he ? ” 

“ In the prison I have just left.” 

“ And you know nothing about the othei’3 ? ” 

“Nothing whatever.” 

The Arab seemed to ponder these replies for a few 
minutes. Then, turning to the interpreter, he spoke 
in a tone that seemed to Miles to imply the giving 
of some strict orders, after which, with a wave of his 
hand, and a majestic inclination of the head, he 
dismissed them. 

Although there was little in the interview to 
afford encouragement, Miles nevertheless was ren¬ 
dered much more hopeful by it, all the more that he 
observed a distinct difference in the bearing of the 
interpreter towards him as they went out. 

“ Who is that ? ” he ventured to ask as he walked 
back to the prison. 

“That is Mohammed, the Mahdi’s cousin,” an¬ 
swered the interpreter. 

Miles was about to put some more questions when 
he was brought to a sudden stand, and rendered for 
the moment speechless by the sight of Moses Pyne 
—not bearing heavy burdens, or labouring in chains, 
as might have been expected, but standing in a 
shallow recess or niche in the wall of a house, busily 
engaged over a small brazier, cooking beans in oil, 
and selling the same to the passers-by ! 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


363 


“ What you see ? ” demanded the interpreter. 

“ I see an old friend and comrade. May I speak 
to him ? ” asked Miles, eagerly. 

“ You may,” answered the interpreter. 

The surprise and joy of Moses when his friend 
slapped him on the shoulder and saluted him by 
name is not easily described. 

“ I am so glad to see you, old fellow! ” he said, 
with sparkling eyes. “ I thought you must be dead, 
for I ’ve tried so often to find out what had become 
of you. Have some beans and oil ? ” 

He dipped a huge ladleful out of the pot, as if he 
were going to administer a dose on the spot. 

“ Ho, thank you, Moses, Fma prisoner. These are 
my guards. I wonder they have allowed me even to 
exchange a word with you. Must be quick. They 
told us you had been half-hanged till you were 
frightened to death.” 

“ They told you lies, then. I Ve been very well 
treated, but what troubles me is I can’t find out 
where any of our comrades have gone to.” 

“ I can tell only of one. Molloy is alive. I wish I 
could say he’s well. Of the others I’m as ignorant 
as yourself. But I’ve seen a friend who-” 

At this point he was interrupted by the interpre¬ 
ter and told to move on, which he was fain to do 
with a cheery good-bye to Moses and a wave of the 
hand. 




364 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Arrived at the prison, he found that Molloy had 
been removed to a more comfortable room, into which 
he was also ushered, and there they were left alone 
together. 

“ D’ you feel better now, my poor fellow ? ” asked 
Miles, when the door was shut. 

“ Better, bless you, yes! I feels far too well. 
They ’ve given me a rare blow-out of beans an’ oil 
since you were taken off to be hanged, and I feels 
so strong that the next turn off won’t finish me! I 
could never have eaten ’em, thinkin’ of you, but, d’ee 
know, I was quite sure, from the way they treated 
you as you went out, that it warn’t to be hangin’ wi’ 
you this time. An’ when they putt me into this here 
room, an’ produced the beans an’ oil, I began to feel 
quite easy in my mind about you. It was the man 
that brought your marchin’ orders that told ’em to 
putt me here. D’ee know, lad, I can’t help feelin’ 
that a friend o’ some sort must have bin raised up 
to us.” 

“ You’re right, Jack, I have just seen the Arab 
whose life I saved and who saved yours! It’s very 
strange, too, that beans and oil should have been 
your fare to-day, for I have also seen Moses Pyne 
in the street, not half-an-hour since, cooking and 
selling beans and oil! ” 

“ You don’t mean that ? ” 

“ Indeed I do. I Ve spoken to him.” 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


365 


Sitting down on a stool—for they were promoted 
to a furnished apartment—Miles entered into an 
elaborate account of all that had befallen him since 
the hour that he had been taken out, as they both 
thought, to be hanged! 


366 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

IN WHICH HOPES AND FEARS RISE AND FALL. 

“ There is a tide in the affairs of men,” undoubt¬ 
edly, and the tide in the affairs of Miles Milton and 
his comrades appeared to have reached low-water at 
this time, for, on the day mentioned in the last 
chapter, it began to turn, and continued for a con¬ 
siderable time to rise. 

The first clear evidence of the change was the 
“blow-out” of beans and oil, coupled with the 
change of prison. The next was the sudden appear¬ 
ance of the beans-and-oil-man himself. 

“ Why, I do believe—it’s—it’s Moses,” exclaimed 
Molloy, as his old comrade entered the prison. “Give 
us your flipper. Man alive! but I’m right glad to 
see you. We thought you was—let’s have a look 
at your neck. No; nothing there. I knowed as 
that interpreter was a liar. But what brings you 
here , lad ? What mischief have ’ee bin up to ? ” 

“ That’s what puzzles myself, Jack,” said Moses, 
shaking hands warmly with Miles. “ I’ve done 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


367 


nothing that I know of except sell beans and oil. 
It *s true I burned ’em sometimes a bit, but they’d 
hardly put a fellow in jail for that—would they? 
However, I’m glad they’ve done it, whatever the 
reason, seeing that it has brought us three together 
again. But, I say,” continued Moses, while a look 
of anxiety came over his innocent face, “ what can 
have become of our other comrades ? ” 

“ You may well ask that, lad. I Ve asked the 
same question of myself for many a day, but have 
never bin able to get from myself a satisfactory 
answer. I’m wery much afeared that we ’ll never 
see ’em again.” 

It seemed almost to be a spring-tide in the affairs 
of the trio at that time, for while the seaman was 
speaking—as if to rebuke his want of faith—the 
door opened and their comrade Armstrong walked in. 

For a few moments they were all rendered speech¬ 
less ! Then Miles sprang up, seized his friend by 
both shoulders, and gazed into his face; it was a very 
thin and careworn face at that time, as if much of 
the bloom of youth had been wiped from it for ever. 
“ Willie ! Am I dreaming ? ” exclaimed Miles. 

“ If you are, so must I be,” replied his friend, “ for 
when I saw you last you had not taken to half¬ 
nakedness as a costume! ” 

“ Come now,” retorted Miles, “ you have not much 
to boast of in that way yourself.” 




368 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ There you are wrong, Miles, for I have to boast 
that I made my garment myself. True, it’s only a 
sack, but I cut the hole in the bottom of it for my 
head with my own hand, and stitched on the short 
sleeves with a packing-needle. But, I say, what’s 
been the matter with Molloy ? Have they been 
working you too hard, Jack ? ” 

“ Ho, Willum, no, I can’t exactly say that, but 
they’ve bin hangin’ me too hard. I ’ll tell ’ee all 
about it in coorse o’ time. Man alive! but they have 
took the flesh off your bones somehow; let’s see— 
no, your neck’s all right. Must have bin some other 
way.” 

“ The way was simple enough,” returned the 
other. “ When they separated us all at first, they set 
me to the hardest work they could find—to dig, 
draw water, carry burdens that a horse might object 
to, sweep, and clean up; in fact, everything and 
anything, and they’ve kep’ us hard at it ever since. 
I say us, because Rattlin’ Bill Simkin was set to help 
me after the first day, an’ we’ve worked all along 
together. Poor Simkin, there ain’t much rattle in 
him now, except his bones. I don’t know why they 
sent me here and not him. And I can’t well make 
out whether I’m sent here for extra punishment or 
as a favour! ” 

“ Have you seen or heard anything of Stevenson?” 
asked Moses. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


369 


“ I saw him once, about a week ago, staggering 
under a great log—whether in connection with 
house-builders or not I can’t tell. It was only for 
a minute, and I got a tremendous cut across the 
back with a cane for merely trying to attract his 
attention.” 

The tide, it will be seen, had been rising pretty 
fast that afternoon. It may be said to have come in 
with a rush, when, towards evening, the door of their 
prison once more opened and Simkin with Stevenson 
were ushered in together, both clothed alike in an 
extemporised sack-garment and short drawers, with 
this difference, that the one wore a species of felt 
hat, the other a fez. 

They were still in the midst of delighted surprise 
at the turn events seemed to be taking, when two 
men entered bearing trays, on which were six 
smoking bowls of beans and oil! 

“ Hallo! Moses, your business follows you even 
to prison,” exclaimed Molloy. 

“True, Jack, and I’ll follow my business up!” 
returned Moses, sitting down on the ground, which 
formed their convenient table, and going to work. 

We need scarcely say that his comrades were not 
slow to follow his example. 

The tide may be said to have reached at least 
half-flood, if not more, when, on the following 
morning, the captives were brought out and told by 
2 A 




370 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


the interpreter that they were to accompany a 
body of troops which were about to quit the place 
under the command of Mohammed, the Mahdi’s 
cousin. 

“ Does the Mahdi accompany us ? ” Miles ven¬ 
tured to ask. 

“No. The Mahdi has gone to Khartoum,” re¬ 
turned the interpreter, who then walked away as if 
he objected to be further questioned. 

The hopes which had been recently raised in the 
breasts of the captives to a rather high pitch were, 
however, somewhat reduced when they found that 
their supposed friend Mohammed treated them with 
cool indifference, did not even recognise them, and 
the disappointment was deepened still more when 
all of them, except Miles, were loaded with heavy 
burdens, and made to march among the baggage- 
animals as if they were mere beasts of burden. The 
savage warriors also treated them with great rude¬ 
ness and contempt. 

Miles soon found that he was destined to fill his 
old post of runner in front of Mohammed, his new 
master. This seemed to him unaccountable, for 
runners, he understood, were required only in towns 
and cities, not on a march. But the hardships 
attendant on the post, and the indignities to which 
he was subjected, at last convinced him that the 
Mahdi must have set the mind of his kinsman 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


371 


against him, and that he was now undergoing extra 
punishment as well as unique degradation. 

The force that took the field on this occasion was 
a very considerable one—with what precise object 
in view was of course unknown to all except its 
chiefs, but the fact that it marched towards the 
frontiers of Egypt left no doubt in the mind of any 
one. It was a wild barbaric host, badly armed and 
worse drilled, but fired with a hatred of all 
Europeans and a burning sense of wrong. 

“ What think ye now, Miles ? ” asked Armstrong, 
as the captives sat grouped together in the midst of 
the host on the first night of their camping out in 
the desert. 

“I think that everything seems to be going 
wrong,” answered Miles, in a desponding tone. “ At 
first I thought that Mohammed was our friend, but 
he has treated me so badly that I can think so no 
longer.” 

“ Don’t you think he may be doing that to blind 
his followers as to his friendship?” said Moses; 
“ for myself, I can’t help thinkin’ he must be grateful 
for what you did, Miles.” 

“ I only wish you had not touched my rifle that 
day,” said Eattling Bill, fiercely—being fatigued and 
out of temper—“ for the blackguard would have bin 
in ‘Kingdom come’ by this time. There’s no 
gratitude in an Arab. I have no hope at all now.” 




372 


BLUE LIGHTS, OK 


“ My hope is in God,” said Stevenson. 

“Well, mate, common sense tells me that that 
should be our best ground of hope,” observed Molloy ; 
“ but common experience tells me that the Almighty 
often lets His own people come to grief.” 

“ God never lets ’em come to grief in the sense 
that you mean,” returned the marine. “ If He kills 
His people, He takes them away from the evil to 
come, and death is but a doorway into glory. If 
he sends grief and suffering, it is that they may at 
last reach a higher state of joy.” 

“Pooh! according to that view, nothing can go 
wrong with them that yon call His people,” said 
Simkin, with contempt. 

“Right you are, comrade,” rejoined Stevenson; 
“ nothing can go wrong with us; nothing can separate 
us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our 
Lord; and you may be one of ‘ us ’ this minute if you 
will accept God’s offer of free salvation in Christ.” 

Silence followed, for Simkin was too angry, as 
well as worn out, to give his mind seriously to any¬ 
thing at that time, and the others were more or less 
uncertain as to the truth of what was advanced. 

Sleep, profound and dreamless, soon banished these 
and all other subjects from their minds. Blessed 
sleep! so aptly as well as beautifully styled, “ Tired 
Nature’s sweet restorer.” That great host of dusky 
warriors—some unquestionably devout, many cruel 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


373 


and relentless, not a few, probably, indifferent to 
everything except self, and all bent on the extermina¬ 
tion of their white-skinned foes,—lay down beside 
their weapons, and shared in that rest which is sent 
alike to the just and to the unjust, through the grand 
impartiality, forbearance, and love of a God whom 
many people apparently believe to be a “ respecter 
of persons ”! 

A few days later the little army came to the edge 
of a range of hills, beyond which lay the plains of 
the vast Nubian desert. At night they encamped 
at the base of the hill-country, through which they 
had been travelling, and the captives were directed 
to take up their position in front of an old ruined 
hut, where masses of broken stones and rubbish 
made the ground unsuitable for camping on. 

“ Just like them! ” growled Simkin, looking 
about for a fairly level spot. “ There’s not a place 
big enough for a dog to lie on! ” 

Supper made Eattling Bill a little more amiable, 
though not much more forgiving to his foes. A 
three-quarters moon soon afterwards shed a faint 
light on the host, which, except the sentries, was 
sound asleep. 

Towards midnight a solitary figure moved slowly 
towards the place where the captives lay and 
awakened Miles, who sat up, stared, winked, and 
rubbed his eyes two or three times before he could 



374 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


bring himself to believe that his visitor was no 
other than the chief of the host—Mohammed! 

“ Pdse. Com. I speak small Engleesh.” 

Miles rose at once and followed the chief into the 
ruined hut. 

“ Clear de ground,” he said, pointing to the centre 
of the floor. 

Our hero obeyed, and, when the loose rubbish was 
cleared away, the moonbeams, shining through the 
ruined roof, fell on a ring bolt. Being ordered to 
pull it, he raised a cover or trap-door, and discovered 
beneath what appeared to be a cellar. 

“Now,” said Mohammed, “listen: you an’ friends 
go down—all. I shut door and cover up—rubsh. 
When we all go ’way, com out and go home. See, 
yonder is home” 

He pointed to the north-eastward, where a glow¬ 
ing star seemed to hang over the margin of the great 
level desert. 

“ You are generous—you are kind ! ” exclaimed 
Miles, with a burst of enthusiasm. 

“Me grateful,” said Mohammed, extending his 
hand in European fashion, which Miles grasped 
warmly. “ Go, wake you comerads. Tell what me 
say, and com quick ! ” 

Miles was much too well-disciplined a soldier to 
hesitate, though he would have liked much to sug¬ 
gest that some of the troops might, before starting, 





HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


375 


take a fancy to explore the ruin, and to ask how 
long they should remain in the cellar before ventur¬ 
ing out. Quietly awaking all his comrades, and draw¬ 
ing their surprised heads together, he whispered his 
tale in their wondering ears. After that they were 
quite prepared to act, and accompanied him noise¬ 
lessly into the ruin. 

“Is the cellar deep?” asked Miles, as he was 
about to descend. 

“No ; not deep.” 

“But what about grub—whittles, meat, an’ 
waier—you know,” said Molloy, with difficulty ac¬ 
commodating his words to a foreigner. “We ’ll starve 
if we go adrift on the desert with nothin’ to eat or 
drink.” 

“ Here—food,” said Mohammed, unslinging a well- 
filled haversack from his shoulders and transferring 
it to those of the sailor. “Stop there,” he con¬ 
tinued, pointing to the cellar, “ till you hears guns— 
shoot—noise. I have make prep’rations ! After 
that, silence. Then, com out, an’ go home” Once 
again he pointed towards the glowing star in the 
north-east. 

“ Mohammed,” exclaimed Molloy, becoming 
suddenly impressed with the generous nature of the 
Arab’s action, “ I don’t know as you ’re a descendant 
o’ the Prophet, but Ido know that you ’re a brick. 
Give us your flipper before we part! ” 


376 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


With a grave expression of kindliness and humour 
the chief shook hands with the seaman. Then the 
captives all descended into the hole, which was not 
more than four feet deep, after which the Arab shut 
the trap, covered it as before with a little rubbish, 
and went away. 

“ Suppose he has bolted the door! ” suggested 
Moses. 

“ Hold your tongue, man, and listen for the signal,” 
said Miles. 

“ I forget what he said the signal was to be,” ob¬ 
served Simkin. 

“ Guns—shoot—noise—after that silence ! ” said 
Armstrong. “ It’s a queer signal.” 

“ But not difficult to recognise when we hear it,” 
remarked Miles. 

The time seemed tremendously long as they sat 
there listening—the cellar was too low for them to 
stand—and they began to fancy that all kinds of 
horrible shapes and faces appeared in the intense 
darkness around them. When they listened in¬ 
tensely, kept silent, and held their breath, their 
hearts took to beating the drums of their ears, and 
when a sudden breath or sigh escaped it seemed as 
if some African monster were approaching from the 
surrounding gloom. 

“Is that you, Simkin, that’s breathin’ like a 
grampus ? ” asked Molloy, after a long pause. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


377 


“ I was just goin’ to ask you to stop snorin’,” re¬ 
torted the soldier. 

“ Hush ! There’s a shot! ” 

It was indeed a distant shot, followed immediately 
by several more. Then a rattle of musketry 
followed—nearer at hand. 

Instantly, as if the earth had just given birth to 
them, the host of dusky warriors sprang up with 
yells of surprise and defiance, and, spear in hand, 
rushed in the direction of the firing. For a few 
minutes the listeners in the cellar heard as it had 
been a mighty torrent surging past the ruined hut. 
Gradually the force of the rush began to abate, while 
the yells and firing became more distant; at last all 
sounds ceased, and the listeners were again oppressed 
by the beating on the drums of their ears. 

“They’re all gone—every mother’s son,” said 
Molloy at last, breaking the oppressive silence. 

“ That’s so,” said Battling Bill; “ up wi’ the trap, 
Miles. You ’re under it, ain’t you ? I’m suffocating 
in this hole.” 

“ I’m not under it. Molloy came down last,” 
said Miles. 

“ What if we can’t find it ? ” suggested Stevenson. 

“ Horrible! ” said Moses, in a hoarse whisper, “ and 
this may be a huge cavern, with miles of space 
around us, instead of a small cellar! ” 

" Here it is ! ” cried the sailor, making a heave 



378 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


with his broad hack. I say—it won’t move! Ah, I 
wasn’t rightly under it. Yo ! heave-o ! ” 

Up went the door with a crash, and the soft moon¬ 
light streamed in upon them. 

A few seconds more and they stood outside the 
hut—apparently the only living beings in all that 
region, which had been so full of human life but a 
few minutes before. 

“ Now we must lose no time in getting away from 
this place, and covering as much of the desert as we 
can during the night,” said Miles, “ for it strikes me 
that we ’ll have to lie quiet during the day, for fear 
of being seen and chased.” 

They spoke together in whispers for a few 
minutes, deciding the course they meant to pursue. 
Then Molloy shouldered the provision bag, Miles 
grasped his official lance—the only weapon they had 
among them,—and off they set on their journey 
across the desert, like a ship entering on an un¬ 
known sea, without the smallest idea of how far 
they were from the frontier of Egypt, and but a 
vague notion of the direction in which they ought 
to go. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


379 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A HORRIBLE SITUATION. 

All that night our fugitives walked steadily in 
the direction of their guiding star, until the dawn of 
day began to absorb its light. Then they selected a 
couple of prominent bushes on the horizon, and, by 
keeping these always in their relative positions, 
were enabled to shape their course in what they 
believed to be the right direction. By repeating 
the process continuously they were enabled to 
advance in a fairly straight line. 

Molloy, as we have said, carried the provision 
bag, and, although it was a very heavy one, he 
refused to let his comrades relieve him of it until 
breakfast-time. Then it was discovered that inside 
of the large bag there were rolled tight up four 
smaller bags with shoulder-straps to them. 

“ A knowin’ feller that Mohammed is,” said Jack 
Molloy, as he handed a bag to each; “ he understands 
how to manage things. “Let’s see what sort o’ 
grub he has. Corn-cakes, I do believe, an’ dates, or 
some sort o’ dried fruit, an’—water-bottles! well, 


380 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


that is a comfort. Now then, boys, go ahead. We 
can’t afford to waste time over our meals.” 

The others so thoroughly agreed with their friend 
on this point that they began to eat forthwith, 
almost in silence. Then, the provisions having been 
distributed, they resumed their march, which was 
almost a forced one, so anxious were they to get as 
far away as possible from the Arab army. 

Coming to a large mimosa bush in the course of 
the morning they halted and sat down to rest a 
little, and hold what the sailor called a “ palaver.” 

“ You see, boys,” he said, “ it ’ll be of no manner of 
use our scuddin’ away before the wind under a press 
o’ canvas like this, without some settled plan-” 

“ Ain’t our plan to git away from the Arabs as 
fast as we can ? ” said Moses Pyne, who sat on a 
stone at the sailor’s feet. 

“ Yes, Moses, but that’s only part of it,” returned 
Molloy. “ We must keep away as well as get away 
—an’ that won’t be quite so easy, for the country is 
swarmin’ wi’ the dark-skinned rascals, as the many 
tracks we have already passed shows us. If we was 
to fall in wi’ a band of ’em—even a small one—we 
would be took again for sartin’, for we’ve got nothin’ 
to fight wi’ but our fists.” 

“ These would offer but poor resistance to bullet 
and steel,” said Armstrong, “ and that lance you ’re 
so fond of, Miles, wouldn’t be worth much.” 




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A “PALAVER” IN THE DESERT.-Paoe 380 






































































































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V 




HOT WORK IN TIIE SOUDAN. 


381 


„ Not much,” admitted Miles, surveying the badge 
of his late office, “ but better than nothing.” 

“ What if the Arabs should change their course 
and fall in with us again ?" asked Moses. 

“ No fear o’ that, seein’ that Mohammed himself 
gave us our sailin’ orders, an’ laid our course for us; 
but it would never do to fall in wi’ other bands, so 
I proposes that we cast anchor where we are, for 
there’s pretty good holdin’ ground among them 
bushes, keep quiet all day, an’ travel only at night. 
I’ve got the krect bearin’s just now, so w’en the 
stars come out we ’ll be able to fix on one layin’ in 
the right direction, and clap on all sail, alow and aloft 
—stu’n s’ls, sky-scrapers, an’ all the rest on it.” 

“ A good plan, Jack,” said Armstrong, “ but what 
if it should come cloudy and blot out the stars ? ” 

“ Besides,” added Miles, “ you forget that men of 
the desert are skilled in observing signs and in 
following tracks. Should any of them pass near 
this little clump of bushes, and observe our footsteps 
going towards it, they will at once come to see if we 
are still here.” 

Molloy put his head on one side and looked 
perplexed for a moment. 

“ Never mind. Let ’em come,” he said, with a 
sudden look of sagacity, “we’ll circumwent ’em. 
There’s nothin’ like circumwention w’en you’ve 
got into a fix. See here. We ’ll dig a hole in a 




382 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


sandbank big enough to hold us all, an’ we ’ll cut a 
big bush an’ stick it in front of the hole so as they’ll 
never see it. We can keep a bright look-out, you 
know, an’ if anything heaves in sight on the horizon, 
down we go into the hole, stick up the bush, an 
there you are—all safe under hatches till the enemy 
clears off.” 

“ But they will trace our footsteps up to the hole 
or the bush,” said Miles, “and wonder why they 
can trace them no further. What then ? ” 

Again the seaman fell into perplexed meditation, 
out of which he emerged with a beaming smile. 

“ Why, then, my lad, we ’ll bamboozle ’em. 
There’s nothin’ like bamboozle] r ent w’en circum- 
wention fails. Putt the two together an’ they ’re 
like a hurricane in the tropics, carries all before 
it! We’ll bamboozle ’em by runnin’ for an hour 
or two all over the place, so as no mortal man seein’ 
our footprints will be able to tell where we corned 
from, or what we’ve bin adoin’ of.” 

“You don’t know the men of the desert, Jack,” 
rejoined Miles, with a laugh. “ They’d just walk in 
a circle round the place where you propose to run 
about and bamboozle them, till they found where 
our tracks entered this bit of bush. Then, as they’d 
see no tracks leaving it, of course they’d know that 
we were still there. D’ you see ? ” 

“ That’s a puzzler for you, Jack,” remarked Moses, 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


383 


as he watched the perplexed expression looming up 
again like a cloud on the sailor’s face. 

“ By no manner o’ means,” retorted Molloy, with 
sudden gravity. “ I sees my way quite clear out o’ 
that. You remember the broad track, not half a 
mile off from where we now sit ? ” 

“ Yes; made I suppose by a pretty big band 
o’ some sort crossin’ the desert,” said Moses. 

“Well, lad, arter runnin’ about in the bush to 
bamboozle of ’em, as aforesaid, we '11 march back to 
that track on the sou’-west’ard—as it may be—an’ 
then do the same on the nor’-west’ard—so to speak 
—an’ so lead ’em to suppose we was a small party 
as broke off, or was sent off, from the main body to 
reconnoitre the bit o’ bush, an’ had rejoined the 
main body further on. That’s what I call circum- 
wentin’, d’ee see ? ” 

While this palaver was going on, Stevenson and 
Bill Simkin were standing a short way off, taking 
observation of something in the far distance. In a 
few minutes they ran towards their comrades with 
the information that a band of men were visible on 
the horizon, moving, they thought, in an opposite 
direction to their line of march. 

“ It may be so,” said Miles, after a brief survey, 
“ but we can’t be sure. We must put part of your 
plan in force anyhow, Jack Molloy. Away into the 
scrub all of you, and stoop as you go.” 



384 


BLUE LIGHTS, Oli 


In saying this, our hero, almost unintentionally, 
took command of the little party, which at once 
tacitly accorded him the position. Leading them— 
as every leader ought—he proceeded to the centre 
of the clump of bushes, where, finding a natural 
hollow or hole in the sand, at the root of a mimosa 
bush, three of them went down on hands and knees 
to scoop it out deeper, while the others cut 
branches with Molloy’s clasp-knife. 

Using flat stones, chips of wood, and hands as 
shovels, they managed to dig out a hole big enough 
to conceal them all, the opening to which was easily 
covered by a mass of branches. 

It is doubtful whether this ingenious contrivance 
w r ould have availed them, if “men of the desert” 
had passed that way, but fortune favoured them. 
The band, whether friends or foes, passed far off to 
the westward, leaving them to enjoy their place of 
fancied security. 

To pass the first day there was not difficult. The 
novelty of the position was great; the interest of 
the thing immense. Indefinite hopes of the future 
were strong, and they had plenty to say and 
speculate about during the passing hours. When 
night came, preparation was made for departure. 
The provision bags were slung, a moderate sip of 
water indulged in, and they set forth, after a very 
brief prayer by Stevenson, that God would guide 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


385 


them safely on their way. There was no formality 
in that prayer. The marine did not ask his com¬ 
rades to kneel or to agree with him. He offered it 
aloud, in a few seconds, in the name of Jesus, leaving 
his hearers to join him or not as they pleased. 

“ See that you lay your course fair now, Molloy,” 
said Miles, as they sallied out upon the darken¬ 
ing plain. 

“ Trust me, lad, I’ve taken my bearin’s.” 

It was very dark the first part of the night, as 
the moon did not rise till late, but there was quite 
enough light to enable them to proceed with caution, 
though not enough to prevent their taking an oc¬ 
casional bush or stump for an advancing foe. All 
went well, however, until dawn the following morn¬ 
ing, when they began to look about for a suitable 
clump of bushes in which to conceal themselves. 
No such spot could they find. 

“Never mind, lads,” said the inexhaustible 
Molloy, “we’ll just go on till we find a place. 
We’re pretty tough just now, that’s one comfort.” 

They were indeed so tough that they went the 
whole of that day, with only one or two brief halts 
to feed. Towards evening, however, they began to 
feel wearied, and, with one consent, determined to en¬ 
camp on a slight eminence a short way in advance, 
the sides of which were covered with low scrub. 

As they approached the spot an unpleasant odour 
2 B 


386 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


reached them. It became worse as they advanced. 
At last, on arriving, they found to their surprise and 
horror that the spot had been a recent battle-field, 
and was strewn with corpses and broken weapons. 
Some days must have elapsed since the fight which 
strewed them there, for the bodies had been all 
stripped, and many of them were partially buried, 
while others had been hauled half out of their 
graves by those scavengers of the desert, hyenas 
and vultures. 

“ Impossible to halt here,” said Armstrong. “ I 
never witness a sight like this that it does not 
force on me the madness of warfare! What terri¬ 
torial gain can make up for these lost lives—the 
flower of the manhood of both parties ? ” 

“But what are we to do?” objected Molloy. 
“ Men must defend their rights ! ” 

“ Not necessarily so,” said Stevenson. “ Men 
have to learn to bear and forbear.” 

“ I have learned to take advantage of what luck 
throws in my way,” said Rattling Bill, picking up a 
rifle which must have escaped the observation of 
the plunderers who had followed the army. 

The body of the poor fellow who had owned it was 
found concealed under a bush not far off. He was an 
English soldier, and a very brief inspection showed 
that the battle had been fought by a party of British 
and Egyptian troops against the Soudanese. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


387 


It seemed as if the plunderers had on this 
occasion been scared from their horrible work before 
completing it, for after a careful search they found 
rifles with bayonets, and pouches full of ammunition, 
more than sufficient to arm the whole party. 

“ There are uniforms enough, too, to fit us all out,” 
said Simkin, as they were about to leave the scene 
of slaughter. 

“ No dead men’s clo’es for me,” said Moses Pyne, 
with a shrug of disgust. 

Jack Molloy declared that he had become so used 
to loose cotton drawers, an’ an easy-fittin’ sack, that 
for his part he had no desire to go back to civilised 
costoom! and as the rest were of much the same 
opinion, no change was made in the habiliments of 
the party, except that each appropriated a pair of 
boots, and Miles exchanged his green tippet for a 
flannel shirt and a pith helmet. He also took a 
revolver, with some difficulty, from the dead hand 
of a soldier, and stuck it in his belt. 

Thus improved in circumstances, they gladly 
quitted the ghastly scene, and made for a bushy 
hillock a few hundred yards in advance. 

On the way they were arrested by the sound of 
distant firing. 

“ Mohammed must have met our countrymen! ” 
exclaimed Molloy, with excited looks, as they halted 
to listen. 



388 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ It may be so, but there are other bands about 
besides his,” said Miles. “ What’s that ? a cheer ? ” 

Ay, a British cheer in the far distance, replied 
to by yells of defiance. Molloy echoed the cheer in 
spite of his better judgment. 

“Let’s run an’ jine ’em !” he exclaimed. 

“ Come along, then ! ” cried Miles, with the ardour 
of inexperienced youth. 

“ Stop! are ye mad ? ” cried Stevenson. “ Don’t 
it stand to reason that the enemy must be between 
us an’ Suakim? and that’s the same as sayin’ 
they ’re between us an’ our friends. Moreover, the 
cheerin’ proves that our side must be gettin’ the 
best of it, an’ are drivin’ the enemy this way, so all 
we’ve got to do is to hide on that hillock an’ bide 
our time.” 

“Right you are, comrade,” cried Rattling Bill, 
examining his cartridges, and asserting with an oath 
that nothing would afford him greater pleasure than 
a good hand-to-hand fight with the black (and some¬ 
thing worse) scoundrels. 

“ Don’t swear at your enemies, Simkin,” said the 
marine quietly; “ but when you get the chance fire 
low ! ” 

Agreeing with Stevenson’s advice to “ bide their 
time,” the little band was soon on the top of the 
hillock, and took up the best position for defending 
the place, also for observing the fight, which, they 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


389 


could now see, was drawing gradually nearer to 
them. 

They were not kept waiting long, for the natives 
were in full flight, hotly pursued by the English 
and Indian cavalry. A slight breeze blowing from 
the north carried not only the noise, but soon the 
smoke of the combat towards them. As they drew 
nearer a large detachment of native spearmen was 
seen to make for the hillock, evidently intending to 
make a stand there. 

“ Now comes our turn,” said Armstrong, examin¬ 
ing the lock of his rifle to see that all was right. 

England expec’s every man,’ etceterer,” said 
Molloy, with a glance at Miles. “ Capting, you 
may as well let us know your plans, so as we may 
work together.” 

Miles was not long in making up his mind. 

“ You ’ll fire at first by command,” he said quickly, 
but decidedly; “ then down on your faces flat, and 
load. After that wait for orders. When it comes 
to the push—as it’s sure to do at last—we ’ll stand 
back to back and do our best. God help us to do it 
well! Don’t hurry, boys—especially in square. Let 
every shot tell.” 

He had barely concluded this brief address when 
the yelling savages reached the hillock. Miles could 
even see the gleaming of their teeth and eyes, and 
the blood of the slightly wounded coursing down 


390 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


their black skins as they rushed panting towards 
the place where he and his little party were crouch¬ 
ing. Then he gave the word : “ Eeady—present! ” 

The smoke, fire, and death to the leading men, 
which belched from the bushes, did not check the 
rush for more than a moment. And even that 
check was the result of surprise more than fear. A 
party of those Arabs who were armed with rifles 
instantly replied, but the bullets passed harmlessly 
over the prostrate men. 

Again the voice of Miles was heard: “ Ready— 
present! ” and again the leading men of the enemy 
fell, but the rushing host only divided, and swept 
round the hillock, so as to take it on both sides at 
once. 

“ Now—form square ! and pick each man,” cried 
Miles, springing up and standing back to back with 
Armstrong. Molloy stood shoulder to shoulder with 
him and backed Bill Simkin, while Stevenson did 
the same for Moses Pyne. The bushes did not rise 
much above their waists, and as the dusky host 
suddenly beheld the knot of strange-looking men, 
whose bristling bayonets glistened in the setting 
sunshine, and whose active rifles were still dealing 
death among their ranks, they dashed at the hill-top 
with a yell of mingled rage and surprise. Another 
moment and spearmen were dancing round the little 
square like incarnate fiends, but the white men 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


391 


made no sound- Each confined himself to two acts 
—namely, load and fire—and at every shot a fore¬ 
most savage fell, until the square became encircled 
with dead men. 

Another moment and a party of Arab riflemen 
ran to the front and took aim. Just then a tre¬ 
mendous cheer was heard. The defenders of the 
hillock made a wild reply, which was drowned in a 
furious fusillade. The entire savage host seemed to 
rush over the spot, sweeping all before it, while 
smoke rolled after them as well as lead and fire. In 
the midst of the hideous turmoil, Miles received a 
blow which shattered his left wrist. Grasping his 
rifle with his right hand he laid about him as best 
he could. Next moment a blow on the head from 
behind stretched him senseless on the ground. 

The return of our hero to consciousness revealed 
to him that he was still lying on the battle-field, 
that it was night, and that an intolerable weight 
oppressed his chest. This last was caused by a 
dead native having fallen across him. On trying 
to get rid of the corpse he made the further dis¬ 
covery that nearly all his strength was gone, and 
that he could scarcely move his right arm, although 
it was free, and, as far as he could make out, un¬ 
wounded. Making a desperate effort, he partially 
relieved himself, and, raising his head, tried to look 
round. His ears had already told him that near to 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


392 

M, 

liim wounded men were groaning away the little of 
life that remained to them; he now saw that he 
was surrounded by heaps of dead men. Excepting 
the groans referred to, the night was silent, and the 
moon shone down on hundreds of upturned faces 
—the bloodless grey of the black men contrasting 
strangely with the deadly pallor of the white, all 
quiet and passionless enough now—here and there 
the head of a warrior resting peacefully on the bosom 
or shoulder of the foe who had killed him! 

A slight noise on his right caused Miles to turn 
his head in that direction, where he saw a wounded 
comrade make feeble efforts to raise himself, and 
then fall back with a deep groan. In other circum¬ 
stances our hero would have sprung to his assistance, 
but at that moment he felt as if absolutely helpless; 
indeed, he was nearly so from loss of blood. He 
made one or two efforts to rise, but the weight of the 
dead man held him down, and after a few brief 
attempts he fainted. 

Kecovering again, he looked round, attracted by 
the sound of a struggle on his right. One of those 
fiends in human form, the plunderers of a battle¬ 
field, had, in his ghoulish progress, come across the 
wounded man who lay close to Miles, and the man 
was resisting him. The other put a quick end to 
the strife by drawing a knife across the throat of 
the poor fellow. A horror of great darkness seemed 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


393 


to overwhelm Miles as he saw the blood gush in a 
deluge from the gaping wound. He tried to shout, 
but, as in a nightmare, he could neither speak nor 
move. 

As the murderer went on rifling his victim, Miles 
partially recovered from his trance of horror, and 
anxiety for his own life nerved him to attempt 
action of some sort. He thought of the revolver 
for the first time at that moment, and the remem¬ 
brance seemed to infuse new life into him. Putting 
his right hand to his belt, he found it there, but 
drew it with difficulty. Doubting his power to 
discharge it by means of the trigger alone, he made 
a desperate effort and cocked it. 

The click made the murderer start. He raised 
himself and looked round. Our hero shut his eyes 
and lay perfectly still. Supposing probably that he 
must have been mistaken, the man resumed his work. 
Miles could have easily shot him where he kneeled 
if he had retained power to lift his arm and take an 
aim. As it was, he had strength only to retain the 
weapon in his grasp. 

After a short time, that seemed an age to the help¬ 
less watcher, the murderer rose and turned his atten¬ 
tion to another dead man, but passing him, came to¬ 
wards Miles, whose spirit turned for one moment to 
God in an agonising prayer for help. The help came 
in the form of revived courage. Calm, cool, firm 


394 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 

•••• 

self-possession seemed to overbear all other feelings. 
He half closed his eyes as the murderer approached, 
and gently turned the muzzle of the revolver up¬ 
wards. He even let the man bend over him and 
look close into liis face to see if he were dead, then 
he pulled the trigger. 

Miles had aimed, he thought, at the man’s breast, 
but the bullet entered under his chin and went 
crashing into his brain. A gush of warm blood 
spouted over Miles’s face as the wretch plunged over 
him, head first, and fell close by his side. He did 
not die at once. The nature of the ground prevented 
Miles from seeing him, but he could hear him gradu¬ 
ally gasp his life away. 

A few minutes later and footsteps were heard 
ascending the hillock. Miles grasped his revolver 
with a hand that now trembled from increasing 
weakness, but he was by that time unable to put 
the weapon on full cock. Despair had wellnigh 
seized him, when a familiar voice was heard. 

“ This way, lads. I’m sure it was hereabouts that 
I saw the flash.” 

“ MacLeod ! ” gasped Miles, as the big Scotsman 
was about to pass. 

“ Losh me! John Miles, is that you ? Are ye 
leevin ? ” 

“ Scarcely! ” was all that the poor youth could 
utter ere he became again insensible. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


395 


A fatigue party tramped up with a stretcher at 
the moment. MacLeod with a handkerchief checked 
the ebbing tide of life, and they bore away from the 
bloody field what seemed little more than the mortal 
remains of poor Miles Milton 


396 


BLUE LIGHTS, OH 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

DESCRIBES A FEW MEETINGS AND SEVERAL SURPRISES. 

The fight described in the last chapter was only 
one of the numerous skirmishes that were taking 
place almost daily near Suakim at that time. But 
it turned out to be a serious occasion to our hero, 
for it cost him one of his hands, and put an end to 
his soldiering days for ever. 

On being taken to the British lines the surgeons 
saw at once that amputation a little above the wrist 
was absolutely necessary. Of course Miles—al¬ 
though overwhelmed with dismay on hearing the fiat 
of the doctors—could offer no objection. With the 
informal celerity of surgical operations as practised 
in the field, the shattered limb was removed, and 
almost before he could realise the full significance 
of what was being done our poor hero was minus 
his left hand! Besides this, he was so cut and bat¬ 
tered about, that most of his hair had to be cut off, 
and his head bandaged and plastered so that those of 
his old comrades who chanced to be with the troops 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


97 


at the time could recognise him only by his voice. 
Even that was scarcely audible when he was carried 
into Suakim. 

At this time the hospitals at Suakim were over¬ 
crowded to such an extent that many of the wounded 
and invalids had to be sent on by sea to Suez and 
the hospitals at Ramleh. Miles was sent on along 
with these, and finally found rest at Alexandria. 

And great was the poor fellow’s need of rest, for, 
besides the terrible sufferings and hardships he had 
endured while in captivity, the wounds and bruises, 
the loss of blood and of his left hand, and the fatigue 
of the voyage, his mind was overwhelmed by the 
consideration that even if he should recover he 
was seriously maimed for life. In addition to all 
this suffering, Miles, while at Suakim, had received 
a blow which wellnigh killed him. A letter came 
informing him of the sudden death of his father, 
and bitter remorse was added to his misery as he lay 
helpless in his cot on the Red Sea. 

The consequent depression, acting on his already 
exhausted powers after he reached Alexandria, 
brought him to the verge of the grave. Indeed, one 
of the nurses said one day to one of her fellows, with 
a shake of her head, “Ah! poor fellow, he won’t 
last long! ” 

“Won’t he!” thought Miles, with a feeling of 
strong indignation. “ Much you know about it! ” 


398 


BLUE LIGHTS, OB 


You see Miles possessed a tendency to abstract 
reasoning, and could meditate upon his own case 
without, so to speak, much reference to himself! 
His indignation was roused by the fact that any one, 
calling herself a nurse, should be so stupid as to 
whisper beside a patient words that he should not 
hear. He did not know that the nurse in question 
was a new one—not thoroughly alive to her duties 
and responsibilities. Strange to say, her stupidity 
helped to render her own prophecy incorrect, for 
the indignation quickened the soldier’s feeble pulse, 
and that gave him a fillip in the right direction. 

The prostration, however, was very great, and for 
some time the life of our hero seemed to hang by a 
thread. During this dark period the value of a 
godly mother’s teaching became deeply impressed on 
him, by the fact that texts from God’s Word, which 
had been taught him in childhood, and which he 
seemed to have quite forgotten, came trooping into 
his mind, and went a long way to calm and comfort 
him. He dwelt with special pleasure on those that 
told of love and mercy in Jesus to the thankless and 
undeserving; for, now that strength, health, and the 
high hopes of a brilliant career were shattered at 
one blow, his eyes were cleared of life’s glamour to 
see that in his existence hitherto he had been ungodly 
—not in the sense of his being much worse than 
ordinary people, but in the sense of his being quite 


IIOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


399 


indifferent to his Maker, and that his fancied condi¬ 
tion of not-so-badness would not stand the test of a 
dying hour. 

About this time, too, he became desperately 
anxious to write to his mother, not by dictation, but 
with his own hand. This being impossible in the 
circumstances, he began to fret, and his power to 
sleep at length failed him. Then a strange desire to 
possess a rose seized him—perhaps because he knew 
it to be his mother’s favourite flower. Whatever 
the cause, the longing increased his insomnia, and as 
he did not say, perhaps did not know, that the want 
of a rose had anything to do with his complaint, 
no one at first thought of procuring one for him. 

He was lying meditating, wakefully, about many 
things one day when one of the nurses approached 
his bed. He did not see her at first, because his 
head was so swathed in bandages that only one eye 
was permitted to do duty, and that, as Molloy might 
have said, was on the lee side of his nose—suppos¬ 
ing the side next the nurse to represent the wind’ard 
side! 

“ I have been laid up a long time,” said a lady, 
who accompanied the nurse, “ and have been longing 
to resume my visits here, as one or two patients 
whom I used to nurse are still in hospital.” 

The heart of Miles gave a bound such as it had 
not attempted since the night he witnessed the 



400 BLUE LIGHTS, OR 

murder on the battle-field, for the voice was that of 
Mrs. Drew. 

“ This is one of our latest arrivals,” remarked the 
nurse, lowering her voice as they advanced. “A 
poor young soldier—lost a hand and badly wounded— 
can’t sleep. He has taken a strange longing of late for 
a rose, and I have asked a friend to fetch one for him.” 

“ How lucky that we happen to have one with us ! ” 
said Mrs. Drew, looking back over her shoulder 
where her daughter stood, concealed from view by 
her ample person. “ Marion, dear, will you part with 
your rose-bud to a wounded soldier ? ” 

“ Certainly, mother, I will give it him myself.” 

She stepped quickly forward, and looked sadly at 
the solitary, glowing eye which gazed at her, as she 
unfastened a rose-bud from her bosom. It was 
evident that she did not recognise Miles, and no 
wonder, for, besides the mass of bandages from out 
of which his one eye glowed, there was a strip of 
plaster across the bridge of his nose, a puffy swell¬ 
ing in one of the cheeks, and the handsome mouth 
and chin were somewhat veiled by a rapidly de¬ 
veloping moustache and beard. 

Miles did not speak—he could not speak; he 
scarcely dared to breathe as the girl placed a red 
rose-bud in his thin hand. His trembling fingers 
not only took the rose, but the hand that gave it, and 
pressed it feebly to his lips. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


401 


With a few words of comfort and good wishes the 
ladies passed on. Then Miles drew the rose down 
under the bed-clothes, put it to his lips, and, with a 
fervently thankful mind, fell into the first profound 
slumber that he had enjoyed for many days. 

This was a turning-point. From that day Miles 
began to mend. He did not see Marion again for 
some time, for her visit had been quite incidental, 
but he was satisfied to learn that she was staying at 
the Institute with her mother, assisting the workers 
there. He wisely resolved to do and say nothing at 
that time, but patiently to wait and get well, for he 
had a shrewd suspicion that to present himself to 
Marion under existing circumstances would be, to 
say the least, injudicious. 

Meanwhile, time, which "waits for no man,” 
passed on. As Miles became stronger he began to 
go about the hospital, chatting with the convales¬ 
cent patients and trying to make himself generally 
useful. On one of these occasions he met with 
a man who gave him the sorrowful news that 
Sergeant Hardy was dead, leaving Miles his execu¬ 
tor and residuary legatee. He also learned, to his 
joy, that his five comrades, Armstrong, Molloy, 
Stevenson, Moses, and Simkin, had escaped with 
their lives from the fight on the hillock where he 
fell, and that, though all were more or less severely 
wounded, they were doing well at Suakim. “ More- 
2 G 


402 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


over,” continued his informant, “ I expect to hear 
more about ’em to-night, for the mail is due, and 
I Ve got a brother in Suakim.” 

That night not only brought news of the five 
heroes, but also brought themselves, for, having all 
been wounded at the same time, all had been sent 
to Alexandria together. As they were informed at 
Suakim that their comrade Miles had been invalided 
home, they did not, of course, make further inquiry 
about him there. 

While they stayed there, awaiting the troop-ship 
which was to take them home, they made Miss 
Robinson’s Institute their constant rendezvous, for 
there they not only found all the comforts of 
English life, but the joy of meeting with many old 
comrades, not a few of whom were either drawn, or 
being drawn, to God by the influences of the place. 

It chanced that at the time of their arrival Mrs. 
Drew and her daughter had gone to visit an English 
family living in the city, and did not for several 
days return to the Institute; thus the invalids failed 
to meet their lady friends at first. But about this time 
there was announced a source of attraction in the 
large hall which brought them together. This 
attraction—which unites all creeds and classes and 
nationalities in one great bond of sympathy—we 
need hardly say was music ! A concert was to take 
place in the great hall of the Institute for some 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


403 


local charity, we believe, but are not sure, at which 
the Slite of Alexandria was expected, and the 
musical talent of Alexandria was to perform—among 
others the band of the something 111 Eegiment. And 
let us impress on you, reader, that the band of the 
something 111 Eegiment was something to be proud 
of! 

This brought numerous friends to the “ Officers’ 
House,” and great numbers of soldiers and Jack- 
tars to the various rooms of the Institute. 

In one of these rooms, towards evening, our friend 
Stevenson was engaged, at the request of the 
Superintendent, in relating to a number of earnest- 
minded men a brief account of the wonderful 
experiences that he and his comrades had recently 
had in the Soudan, and Jack Molloy sat near him, 
emphasising with a nod of his shaggy head, or a 
“ Eight you are, messmate,” or a slap on his thigh, 
all the marine’s points, especially those in which 
his friend, passing over second causes, referred all 
their blessings and deliverances direct to his loving 
God and Father. In another room a Bible-reading 
was going on, accompanied by prayer and praise. 
In the larger rooms, tea, coffee, etc., were being 
consumed to an extent that “ no fellow can under¬ 
stand,” except those who did it! Games and news¬ 
papers and illustrated magazines, etc., were rife 
elsewhere, while a continuous roar, rather the 




404 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


conventional “ buzz, ” of conversation was going on 
everywhere. But, apparently, not a single oath in 
the midst of it all! The moral ‘atmosphere of the 
place was so pure that even bad men respected— 
perhaps approved—it. 

Just before the hour of the concert our friends, the 
live invalids, sat grouped round a table near the door. 
They were drinking tea, and most of them talking 
with tremendous animation—for not one of them 
had been wounded in the tongue! Indeed it did 
not appear that any of them had been very seriously 
wounded anywhere. 

While they were yet in the midst of their talk 
two lady-workers came down the long room, followed 
by two other ladies in deep mourning, the younger 
of whom suddenly sprang towards our quintet, and. 
clasping her hands, stood speechless before them, 
staring particularly at Jack Molloy, who returned 
the gaze with interest. 

“Beg pard’n, Miss Drew,” exclaimed the sailor, 
starting up in confusion, and pulling his forelock, 
“ but you’ve hove me all aback! ” 

“ Mr. Molloy! ” gasped Marion, grasping his hand 
and looking furtively round, “ is it possible ? ” Have 
you all escaped ? Is—is-” 

“Yes, Miss, we’ve all escaped, thank God, an’ 
we’re all here—’cept John Miles, in coorse, for he’s 
bin invalided home-” 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


405 


“ He ’s no more invalided home than yourself, 
Jack,” said a seaman, who was enjoying his coffee at 
a neighbouring table; “leastwise I seed John Miles 
myself yesterday in hospital wi’ my own two eyes, 
as isn’t apt to deceive me.” 

“ Are ye sure o’ that, mate ? ” cried Molloy, turn¬ 
ing in excitement to the man and totally forgetting 
Marion. 

“Mother, let us go out!” whispered the latter, 
leaning heavily on Mrs. Drew’s arm. 

They passed out to the verandah—scarcely 
observed, owing to the excitement of the quintet at 
the sailor’s news—and there she would have fallen 
down if she had not been caught in the arms of a 
soldier who was advancing towards the door. 

“ Mr. Miles! ” exclaimed Mrs. Drew, as she looked 
up in amazement at the scarred and worn face. 

“ Ay, Mrs. Drew, through God’s mercy I am here. 
But help me: I have not strength to carry her 
now .” 

Marion had nearly fainted, and was led with the 
assistance of her mother to a retired part of the 
garden, and placed in an easy-chair. Seeing that 
the girl was recovering, the other ladies judiciously 
left them, and Miles explained to the mother, while 
she applied smelling-salts to Marion, that he had 
come on purpose to meet them, hoping and expecting 
that they would be attracted to the concert, like all 



406 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


the rest of the world, though he had scarcely looked 
for so peculiar a meeting ! 

“ But how did you know we were here at all ? ” 
asked Mrs. Drew in surprise. 

“ I saw you in the hospital,” replied Miles, with a 
peculiar look. “Your kind daughter gave me a 
rose! ” 

He pointed as he spoke to a withered bud which 
was fastened to his coat. 

“ But—but —that young man had lost his hand; 
the nurse told us so,” exclaimed Mrs. Drew, with a 
puzzled look. 

Miles silently pointed to the handless arm which 
hung at his left side. 

Marion had turned towards him with a half- 
frightened look. She now leaned back in her chair 
and covered her face with both hands. 

“ Mr. Miles,” said the wise old lady, with a sud¬ 
den and violent change of subject, “your friends 
Armstrong and Molloy are in the Institute at this 
moment waiting for you ! ” 

Our hero needed no second hint. ISText minute 
he dashed into the entrance hall, with wonderful 
vigour for an invalid, for he heard the bass voice of 
Molloy exclaiming— 

“I don’t care a button, leave or no leave, I’ll 
make my way to John M- Hallo ! ” 

The “ Hallo! ” was caused by his being rushed 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


407 


into by the impetuous Miles with such force that 
they both staggered. 

“ Why, John, you ’re like the ram of an iron-clad ! 
Is it really yourself ? Give us your flipper, my boy !” 

But the flipper was already in that of Willie 
Armstrong, while the others crowded round him 
with congratulations. 

“ Wot on airth’s all the noise about in that there 
corner ? ” exclaimed a Jack-tar, who was trying hard 
to tell an interminable story to a quiet shipmate in 
spite of the din. 

“It’s only that we’ve diskivered our captin,” 
cried Molloy, eager to get any one to sympathise. 

“ Wot captin’s that ? ” growled the Jack-tar. 

“ Why, him as led us on the hillock, to be sure, at 
Suakim.” 

When acts of heroism and personal prowess are of 
frequent occurrence, deeds of daring are not apt to 
draw general attention, unless they rise above the 
average. The “ affair of the hillock,” however, as it 
got to be called, although unnoticed in despatches, or 
the public prints, was well known among the rank 
and file who did the work in those hot regions. 
When, therefore, it became known that the six heroes, 
who had distinguished themselves on that hillock, 
were present, a great deal of interest was exhibited. 
This culminated when a little man rushed suddenly 
into the room, and, with a wild “hooroo!” seized 




408 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


Molloy round the waist—he wasn’t tall enough to 
get him comfortably by the neck—and appeared to 
wrestle with him. 

“ It’s Corporal Flynn—or his ghost! ” exclaimed 
Molloy. 

“ Sure an’ it’s both him an’ his ghost togither! ” 
exclaimed the corporal, shaking hands violently all 
round. 

“ I thought ye was sent home,” said Moses. 

“ Niver a bit, man; they tell awful lies where 
you’ve come from. I wouldn’t take their consciences 
as a gift. I’m as well as iver, and better; but I’m 
goin’ home for all that, to see me owld grandmother. 
Ye needn’t laugh, you spalpeens. Come, three 
cheers, boys, for the ‘ heroes o’ the hillock ’! ” 

Most heartily did the men there assembled respond 
to this call, and then the entire assembly cleared 
off to the concert, with the exception of Miles 
Milton. “He,” as Corporal Flynn knowingly ob¬ 
served, “had other fish to fry.” He fried these fish 
in company with Mrs. and Marion Drew; but as the 
details of this culinary proceeding were related to us 
in strict confidence, we refuse to divulge them, and 
now draw the curtain down on the ancient land of 
Egypt. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


409 


CHAPTER XXX. 

CONCLUSION. 

Once more we return to the embarkation jetty 
at Portsmouth. 

There, as of old, we find a huge, white-painted 
troop-ship warping slowly in, her bulwarks and ports 
crowded with white helmets, and eager faces gazing 
at the equally eager but anxious faces on shore. 

Miss Robinson’s coffee-shed shows signs of life! 
Our friend Brown is stimulating the boiler. The 
great solitary port-hole has been opened, and the 
never-failing lady-workers are there, preparing their 
ammunition and getting ready for action, for every 
troop-ship that comes to Portsmouth from foreign 
shores, laden with the bronzed warriors of Britain, 
has to face the certainty of going into action with 
that unconquerable little coffee-shed! 

We do not, however, mean to draw the reader 
again through the old scene, further than to point 
out that, among the many faces that loom over 
these bulwarks, five are familiar, namely, those of 




410 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


our friends Miles Milton, William Armstrong, Moses 
Pyne, Stevenson, and Simian. Jack Molloy is not 
witli them, because he has preferred to remain in 
Egypt, believing himself to be capable of still further 
service to Queen and country. 

A feeling of great disappointment oppresses Miles 
and his friend Armstrong, for they fail to recognise 
in the eager crowd those whom they had expected 
to see. 

“ My mother must be ill,” muttered Miles. 

“ So must my Emmy,” murmured his friend. 

There was a very anxious little widow on the 
jetty who could not manage to distinguish individuals 
in the sea of brown faces and white helmets, because 
the tears in her eyes mixed them all up most per¬ 
plex ingly. It is not surprising that Miles had 
totally failed to recognise the mother of old in the 
unfamiliar widow’s weeds—especially when it is con¬ 
sidered that his was a shrinking, timid mother, who 
kept well in the background of the demonstrative 
crowd. Their eyes met at last, however, and those 
of the widow opened wide with surprise at the change 
in the son, while those of the son were suddenly 
blinded with tears at the change in the mother. 

Then they met—and such a meeting!—in the midst 
of men and women, elbowing, crowding, embracing, 
exclaiming, rejoicing, chaffing, weeping! It was an 
awkward state of things, but as every one else was 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


411 


in the same predicament, and as all were more or 
less swallowed np in their own affairs, Miles and 
his mother were fain to make the best of it. They 
retired under the partial shelter of a bulkhead, where 
block-tackles and nautical debris interfered with 
their footing, and tarry odours regaled their noses, 
and there, in semi-publicity, they interchanged their 
first confidences. 

Suddenly Mrs. Milton observed a tall young 
fellow standing not far off, looking wistfully at the 
bewildering scene, apparently in deep dejection. 

“ Who is that, Miles ? ” she asked. 

«Why, that’s my comrade, chum, and friend, 
whom I have so often written about, Willie Arm¬ 
strong, Come. I will introduce you.” 

“ Oh ! how selfish of me ! ” cried the widow, start¬ 
ing forward and not waiting for the introduction; 
“Mr. Armstrong—I’m so sorry; forgive me! I 
promised to let you know that your wife waits to 
meet you at the Soldiers’ Institute.” 

The difference between darkness and light seemed 
to pass over the soldier’s face, then a slight shade of 
anxiety clouded it. “ She is not ill, is she ? ” 

“Ho, no, quite well,” said Mrs. Milton, with a 
peculiar smile; “but she thought it wiser not to 
risk a meeting on the jetty as the east wind is sharp. 
I’m so sorry I did not tell you at once, but I selfishly 
thought only-” 





412 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“Pray make no apology, madam,” interrupted 
Armstrong; “ I’m so thankful that all is well. I 
had begun to fear that something must be wrong, 
for my Emmy never disappoints me. If she thinks 
it wiser not to meet on the jetty, it is wiser!” 

A crowd of men pushed between them at this 
moment. Immediately after a female shout was 
heard, followed by the words, “ There he is ! Och, 
it’s himsilf—the darlint! ” 

Mrs. Flynn had discovered the little corporal, and 
her trooper son, Terence, who had come down with 
her, stood by to see fair-play while the two embraced. 

Drifting with a rather rapid tide of mingled human 
beings, Miles and his mother soon found themselves 
stranded beside the coffee-shed. Eetiring behind 
this they continued their conference there, disturbed 
only by wind and weather, while the distribution of 
hot coffee was going on in front. 

Meanwhile, when leave was obtained, Armstrong 
made his way to the Institute, where the old scene 
of bustle and hilarity on the arrival of a troop-ship 
was going on. Here, in a private room, he discovered 
Emmy and the cause of her not appearing on the 
jetty. 

“ Look at him—Willie the second ! ” cried the 
little woman, holding up a bundle of some sort. 
The soldier was staggered for a moment—the only 
infantry that had ever staggered him !—for his wife 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


413 


had said nothing about this bundle in her letters. 
He recovered, however, and striding across the room 
embraced the wife and the bundle in one tremendous 
hug! 

The wife did not object, but the bundle did, and 
instantly set up a howl that quite alarmed the father, 
and was sweetest music in the mother’s ears! 

“Now tell me,” said the little woman, after 
calming the baby and putting it in a crib; “ have 
you brought Miles Milton home all safe ? ” 

“ Yes, all right, Emmy.” 

“ And is he married to that dear girl you wrote 
about ?” 

“No, not yet—of course.” 

“ But are they engaged ? ” 

“No. Miles told me that he would not presume 
to ask her while he had no home to offer her.” 

“ Pooh ! He’s a goose! He ought to make sure 
of her , and let the home look after itself. He may 
lose her. Girls, you know, are changeable, giddy 
things! ” 

“ I know nothing of the sort, Emmy.” 

The young wife laughed, and—well, there is no 
need to say what else she did. 

About the same time, Mrs. Milton and her son 
were seated in another private room of the Institute 
finishing off that interchange of confidences which 
had begun in such confusion. As it happened, they 


414 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


were conversing on the same subject that occupied 
Emmy and her husband. 

“ You have acted rightly, Miles,” said the mother, 
“ for it would have been unfair and selfish to have 
induced the poor girl to accept you until you had 
some prospect of a home to give her. God will bless 
you for doing the right , and trusting to Him. And 
now, dear boy, are you prepared for bad news ? ” 

“Prepared for anything!” answered Miles, pressing 
his mother’s hand, “ but I hope the bad news does 
not affect you, mother.” 

“ It does. Your dear father died a bankrupt. I 
shrank from telling you this when you were wounded 
and ill. So you have to begin again the battle of 
life with only one hand, my poor boy, for the annuity 
I have of twenty pounds a year will not go far to 
keep us both.” 

Mrs. Milton tried to speak lightly on this point, 
by way of breaking it to her son, but she nearly broke 
down, for she had already begun to feel the pinch of 
extreme poverty, and knew it to be very, very differ¬ 
ent from what “well-off” people fancy. The grave 
manner in which her son received this news filled 
her with anxiety. 

“ Mother,” he said, after pondering in silence for 
a few moments, and taking her hand in his while he 
slipped the handless arm round her waist, “ the news 
i3 indeed serious, but our Father whom you have 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


415 


trusted so long will not fail us now. Happily it is 
my right hand that has been spared, and wonders, 
you know, may be wrought with a strong right hand, 
especially if assisted by a strong left stump, into 
which spoons, forks, hooks, and all manner of 
ingenious contrivances can be fitted. How, cheer 
up, little mother, and 111 tell you what we will do. 
But first, is there nothing left? Do the creditors 
take everything ? ” 

“ All, I believe, except some of the furniture which 
has been kindly left for us to start afresh with. 
But we must quit the old home next month. At 
least, so I am told by my kind little lawyer, who 
looks after everything, for I understand nothing.” 

“ Your mention of a lawyer reminds me, mother, 
that a poor sergeant, who died a short time ago in 
Egypt, made me his executor, and as I am painfully 
ignorant of the duties of an executor 111 go and see 
this ‘ kind little lawyer ’ if you will give me his 
address.” 

Leaving Miles to consult his lawyer, we will now 
turn to a meeting—a grand tea-fight—in the great 
hall of the Institute, that took place a few days after 
the return of the troop-ship which brought our hero 
and his friends to England. Some telling incidents 
occurred at this fight which render it worthy of notice. 

First, Miss Bobinson herself presided and gave a 
stirring address, which, if not of much interest to 






416 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


readers who did not hear it, was a point of immense 
attraction to the hundreds of soldiers, sailors, and 
civilians to whom it was delivered, for it was full of 
sympathy, and information, and humour, and en¬ 
couragement, and, above all, of the Gospel. 

Everybody worth mentioning was there—that is, 
everybody connected with our tale who was in 
England at the time. Miles and his mother of course 
were there, and Armstrong with Emmy—ay, and with 
Willie the second too—who was pronounced on all 
hands to be the born image of his father. Alas for 
his father, if that had been true 1 A round piece of 
dough with three holes punched in it and a little nob 
in the midst would have borne as strong a resemblance 
to Miles as that baby did. Nevertheless, it was a 
“magnificent” baby! and “ so good,”undeniably good, 
for it slept soundly in its little mother’s lap the 
whole evening! 

Stevenson was also there, you may be sure; and so 
were Moses and Sutherland, and Rattling Bill Simkin 
and Corporal Flynn, with his mother and Terence 
the Irish trooper, who fraternised with Johnson the 
English trooper, who was also home on the sick-list 
—though he seemed to have a marvellous colour and 
a,ppetite for a sick man. 

“ Is that the ‘ Soldiers Friend ’ ? ” asked Simkin, 
in a whisper, of a man who stood near him, as a lady 
came on the platform and took the chair. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


417 


“Ay, that’s her,” answered the man—and the 
speaker was Thomas Tufnell, the ex-trooper of the 
Queen’s Bays, and the present manager of the Insti¬ 
tute—“Ay, that’s the * Soldier’s Friend.’’.’ 

“Well, I might have guessed it,” returned Simkin, 
“from the kindly way in which she shook hands 
with a lot of soldiers just now.” 

“ Yes, she has shook hands with a good many 
red-coats in her day, has the ‘Soldier’s Friend,’” 
returned the manager. “ Why, I remember on one 
occasion when she was giving a lecture to soldiers, 
and so many men came forward to shake hands 
with her that, as she told me herself, her hand was 
stiff and swelled all night after it! ” 

“ But it’s not so much for what she has done for 
ourselves that we ’re grateful to her,” remarked a 
corporal, who sat on Simkin’s right, “ as for what 
she has done for our wives, widows, and children, 
through the Soldiers' and Sailors' Wives' Aid 
Association. Lookin’ arter them when we ’re away 
fightin’ our country’s battles has endeared her to us 
more than anything else.” 

Thus favourably predisposed, Simkin was open 
to good impressions that night. But, indeed, there 
was an atmosphere—a spirit of good-will—in the 
hall that night which rendered many others besides 
Simkin open to good impressions. Among the 
civilians there was a man named Sloper, who had 
2 D 



418 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


for some time past been carefully fished for by an 
enthusiastic young red-coat whom he had basely 
misled and swindled. He had been at last hooked 
by the young red-coat, played, and finally landed 
in the hall, with his captor beside him to keep him 
there—for Sloper was a slippery fish, with much of 
the eel in his nature. 

Perhaps the most unexpected visitors to the 
hall were two ladies in mourning, who had just 
arrived from Egypt by way of Brindisi. Mrs. and 
Miss Drew, having occasion to pass through Ports¬ 
mouth on their way home, learned that there was 
to be a tea-fight at the Institute, and Marion im¬ 
mediately said, “ I should like so much to see it! ” 

However much “ so much ” was, Mrs. Drew said 
she would like to see it as much, so away they went, 
and were conducted to the front row. There Miles 
saw them! With his heart in his mouth, and his 
head in confusion, he quietly rose, bade his wonder¬ 
ing mother get up; conducted her to the front seat, 
and, setting her down beside the Drews, introduced 
them. Then, sitting down beside Marion, he went 
in for a pleasant evening ! 

And it was a pleasant evening! Besides pre¬ 
liminary tea and buns, there were speeches, songs, 
recitations, etc.—all being received with immense 
satisfaction by a crowded house, which had not yet 
risen to the unenviable heights of classical taste and 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


419 


blaseism. As for Miles and Marion, nothing came 
amiss to them! If a singer had put B flat in the 
place of A natural they would have accepted it as 
quite natural. If a humourist had said the circle 
was a square, they would have believed it—in a 
sense—and tried to square their reason accordingly. 

But nothing is without alloy in this life. To the 
surprise of Miles and his mother, their “ kind little 
lawyer ” also made his appearance in the hall. More 
than that, he insisted, by signs, that Miles should 
go out and speak with him. But Miles was ob¬ 
durate. He was anchored, and nothing but cutting 
the cable could move him from his anchorage. 

At last the “kind little man” pushed his way 
through the crowd. 

“ I must have a word with you, my dear sir. It 
is of importance,” he said. 

Thus adjured, Miles unwillingly cut the cable, 
and drifted into a passage. 

“My. dear sir,” said the little man, seizing his 
hand, “ I congratulate you.” 

“You ’re very kind, but pray, explain why.” 

“ I find that you are heir to a considerable fortune.” 

Miles was somewhat interested in this, and asked, 
“ How’s that ? ” 

“Well, you remember Hardy’s will, which you 
put into my hands a few days ago ? ” 

“ Yes ; what then ? That can’t be the fortune ! ” 




420 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


“ Indeed it is. Hardy, you remember, made you 
his residuary legatee. I find, on inquiry, that the 
old cousin you told me about, who meant to leave all 
his money to build a hospital, changed his mind 
at the last and made out a will in favour of Hardy, 
who was his only relative. So, you see, you being 
Hardy’s heir, have come into possession of something 
like two thousand a year.” 

To this Miles replied by a whistle of surprise, and 
then said, “ Is that all ? ” 

“ Upon my word, sir,” said the ‘kind little lawyer,’ 
in a blaze of astonishment, “you appear to take 
this communication in a peculiar manner! ” 

“ You mistake me,” returned Miles, with a laugh. 
“I don’t mean ‘is that all the fortune?’ but ‘is that 
all you have to say ? ’ ” 

“ It is, and to my mind I have said a good deal.” 

“ You certainly have. And, believe me, I am not 
indifferent or unthankful, but—but—the fact is, 
that at present I am particularly engaged. Good¬ 
bye, and thank you.” 

So saying, Miles shook the puzzled old gentleman 
heartily by the hand, and hurried back to his 
anchorage in the hall. 

“ I’ve done it, mother! ” whispered Miles, two 
days thereafter, in the privacy of the Institute 
reading-room. 

“ Miles ! ” said the startled lady, with a reproach- 




HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


421 


ful look, “ I thought you said that nothing would 
induce you-” 

“ Circumstances have altered, mother. I have had 
a long consultation with your ‘ kind little lawyer/ 
and he has related some interesting facts to me.” 

Here followed a detailed account of the facts. 

“ So, you see, I went and proposed at once—not 
to the lawyer—to Marion.” 

“ And was accepted ? ” 

“ Well—yes. I could hardly believe it at the 
time. I scarcely believe it now, so I’m going back 
this afternoon to make quite sure.” 

“ I congratulate you, my darling boy, for a good 
wife is God’s best gift to man.” 

“ How do you know she is good, mother ? ” 

“ I know it, because—I know it! Anybody 
looking in her face can see it. And with two 
thousand a year, why-” 

“ One thousand, mother.” 

“ I thought you said two, my son.” 

“ So I did. That is the amount of the fortune left 
by the eccentric old hospital-for-incurables founder. 
When poor Hardy made out his will he made 
me residuary legatee because the trifle he had to 
leave—his kit, etc.—was not worth dividing between 
me and Armstrong. If it had been worth much 
he would have divided it. It is therefore my duty 
now to divide it with my friend.” 

2 d 2 





422 


BLUE LIGHTS, OK 


But in our anxiety to tell you these interesting 
facts, dear reader, we have run ahead of the tea- 
fight ! To detail all its incidents, all its bearings, 
all its grand issues and blessed influences, would 
require a whole volume. We return to it only to 
mention one or two gratifying facts. 

It was essentially a temperance—that is, a total- 
abstinence, a blue-ribbon—meeting, and, at the end, 
the “ Soldiers’ Friend” earnestly invited all who felt 
so disposed to come forward and sign the pledge. 
At the same time, medals and prizes were presented 
to those among the civilians who had loyally kept 
their pledge intact for certain periods of time. On 
an average, over a thousand pledges a year are taken 
at the Institute, and we cannot help thinking that 
the year we are writing of must have exceeded the 
average—to judge from the numbers that pressed 
forward on this particular night. 

There were soldiers, sailors, and civilians ; men, 
women, and children. Amongst the first, Rattling 
Bill Simkin walked to the front—his moral courage 
restored to an equality with his physical heroism— 
and put down his name. So did Johnson and 
Sutherland—the former as timid before the audience 
as he had been plucky before the Soudanese, but 
walking erect, nevertheless, as men do when con¬ 
scious that they are in the right; the latter “ as bold 
as brass”—as if to defy the world in arms to 



HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 


423 


make him ever again drink another drop of any¬ 
thing stronger than tea. 

Moses Pyne also “ put on the blue,” although, to 
do him justice, he required no protection of that 
sort, and so did Corporal Flynn and Terence and 
their mother—which last, if truth must be told, 
stood more in need of the pledge than her stout 
sons. 

Among the civilians several noted personages were 
influenced in the right direction. Chief among these 
was sodden, blear-eyed, disreputable Sloper, whose 
trembling hand scrawled a hieroglyphic, supposed 
to represent his name, which began indeed with an 
S, but ended in a mysterious prolongation, and was 
further rendered indecipherable by a penitent tear 
which fell upon it from the point of his red, red 
nose! 

Some people laughed, and said that there was no 
use in getting Sloper to put on the blue ribbon, that 
he was an utterly demoralised man, that he had no 
strength of character, that no power on earth could 
save him! They were right. JSTo power on earth 
could save him—or them! These people forgot that 
it is not the righteous but sinners who are called to 
repentance. 

Time passed away and wrought its wonted changes. 
Among other things, it brought back to Portsmouth 
big, burly Jack Molloy, as hearty and vigorous as 




424 


BLUE LIGHTS, OR 


he was when being half-hanged in the Soudan, but 
—minus a leg! Poor Jack ! a spent cannon-ball— 
would that it had been spent in vain !—removed it, 
below the knee, much more promptly than it could 
have been taken off by the surgeon’s knife. But 
what was loss to the Boyal Navy was gain to Ports¬ 
mouth, for Jack Molloy came home and devoted 
himself, heart and soul, to the lending of “ a helping 
hand ” to his fellow-creatures in distress—devoting 
his attentions chiefly to the region lying round 
Nobbs Lane, and causing himself to be adored prin¬ 
cipally by old women and children. And there and 
thus he probably works to this day—at least, some 
very like him do. 

When not thus engaged he is prone to take a 
cruise to a certain rural district in the south of 
England, where he finds congenial company in two 
very tall, erect, moustached, dignified gentlemen, 
who have a tendency to keep step as they walk, one 
of whom has lost his left hand, and who dwell in 
two farm-houses close together. 

These two gentlemen have remarkably pretty 
wives, and wonderfully boisterous children, and the 
uproar which these children make when Molloy 
comes to cast anchor among them, is stupendous! 
As for the appearance of the brood, and of Jack 
after a spree among the hay, the word has yet to 
be invented which will correctly describe it. 


HOT WORK IN THE SOUDAN. 425 

The two military-looking farmers are spoken of 
by the people around as philanthropists. Like true 
philanthropists, whose foundation-motive is love to 
God, they do not limit their attentions to their own 
little neighbourhood, but allow their sympathies 
and their benefactions to run riot round the world 
—wheresoever there is anything that is true, 
honourable, just, pure, lovely, or of good report to 
be thought of, or done, or assisted. 

Only one of these acts of sympathy and benefac¬ 
tion we will mention. Every Christmas there is 
received by Miss Bobinson at the Soldiers’ Institute, 
Portsmouth, a huge hamper full of old and new 
garments of all kinds—shoes, boots, gowns, frocks, 
trousers, shawls, comforters, etc.—with the words 
written inside the lid—“ Blessed are they that con¬ 
sider the poor.” And on the same day come two 
cheques in a letter. We refuse, for the best of all 
reasons, to divulge the amount of those cheques, 
but we consider it no breach of confidence to reveal 
the fact that the letter containing them is signed 
by two old and grateful Blue Lights. 

THE END. 


Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty, 
at the Edinburgh University Press. 


























































































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